Harry Potter and the Secret of Gairech
by Kitty Sesachar
Summary: The sixth year at Hogwarts is overshadowed by fresh attacks by Voldemort, who is seeking a final confrontation with the only person who has the power to destroy him. But is Harry ready… ?
1. Petunia's Secret

[English translation by CarrieF (carrief_x@yahoo.co.uk)]  
  
Disclaimer: Loads of characters © of J.K. Rowling. I'm making no profit out of this story - it was written simply for the pleasure of writing. Anyone who wants to read it should be able to spend a few enjoyable hours without having to dig too deep in his pockets. *wink*. All characters outside the HP-series are mine - except Professor Leroux. Many thanks, Martina, for this wonderful character. Oh yeah, and any similarities to persons living or dead are, of course, purely incidental. *cough*  
  
Feedback: If you have any to share, you can be sure that I'll read and answer it, no matter whether it's positive or negative. ^.^  
  
Dedication: To Sabine, who's to blame for the fact that I became addicted to Harry Potter and wrote a story longer than 5 sides of Word for the first time in three years. And for everyone who patiently puts up with my mania and doesn't throw me out of the house when I wrap myself in a Gryffindor scarf and rant about the latest book or film, including my parents, who let me use the PC for long enough to let my story-mania run free. ^.^  
  
~*~  
  
"And a hero has to be in trouble from the moment of his birth,  
or he's not a real hero." ~ Schmendrick, the Magician  
"The Last Unicorn" by Peter S. Beagle  
  
1. Petunia's Secret  
  
The ticking clock on his bedside cabinet showed a quarter past three. The sparse light from the streetlamps shimmered through his curtains, allowing him to see dim outlines in the room. As he stared with wide open eyes, these outlines turned into eerie figures - tall shadows in long cloaks which crept around his bed like predators waiting to pounce.  
  
A gust of wind rustled the curtain and Harry gasped.  
  
A dream. It was all a dream.  
  
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his pyjama sleeve and stared at the big cupboard against the opposite wall, which had seemed so threatening a moment before.  
  
Just a dream.  
  
Harry pulled the blanket higher. It made him sweat even more, but he didn't care. The blanket protected him, like a second skin. At least, that's how it seemed to him.  
  
Hedwig, sitting in her cage, looked at him attentively with her eyes wide open. It really seemed as if the snowy owl was asking him if he was alright. Harry nodded. "I'm okay," he said.  
  
Hedwig hooted softly and fluffed out her feathers. She was still looking at him thoughtfully.  
  
Harry sighed and closed his eyes again. And although his heart was still hammering wildly in his chest after the last dream, he fell into a dark, restless sleep.  
  
Sinking through a formless white mist he reached the world of the subconscious, which seldom - or never - can be seen by day. Sometimes it was a place of refuge, but sometimes it represented pain and hell. And today, as so often in the past weeks, it would be the latter. Harry stared at a double door, several meters high, which rose up in front of him, leading to a long corridor. A corridor so endless that it seemed almost abstract. Where did it lead?  
  
A voice made him jump. A full, loud voice, coming from behind him. It was cold, loud, clear. And it was calling his name.  
  
Confused, Harry turned slowly around and found himself in an immense courtroom, staring at faceless faces, feeling emotionless emotions that streamed against him. He shivered as an icy coldness crept up his back, dancing over his skin and seeking a way inside his body to freeze his heart.  
  
The men before him knew no mercy. Expressionless, yet expressive, alive and yet dead, rigid, and yet so swift.  
  
Thoughts flew.  
  
A blur of tangled thoughts.  
  
Who were they?  
  
Who were these dark figures that stood before him, terrifying in form and appearance? They were black, completely black, and masked so that no inch of skin could be seen beneath the blackness. Only their eyes were visible, and cold. An indefinable moan rose hoarsely from their throats, seizing every inch of Harry's trembling body.  
  
Creatures of the darkness.  
  
A face appeared among the faceless - white, grotesque, mocking in the gloom of the darkest of all nights. The spiteful face of a clown with a grin so terrible that it alone could have been enough to turn life to death. The white, mocking face became contorted with a guttural, devastating laugh.  
  
And it was laughing at him.  
  
Desperation, cold wind against his back. Harry felt more helpless than a chick fallen from its nest, more cornered than a hunted fox staring into the deadly jaws of its executioners.  
  
It was worse. Beyond all cruelty.  
  
And he had to get away, had to wake up from this nightmare.  
  
He spun around and ran, but everything moved as if in slow-motion. Slowly, so slowly, but smoothly he ran, inch by inch, looking behind him to see the white-faced monster of darkness rushing towards him in the endless corridor. Yes, it was rushing - nothing seemed to hold it back. It was rushing like the wind and he, he could hardly move as he fled from the creature in black. However hard he tried, his legs refused to carry him as they should, and all his muscles seemed to fail him. The beast had reached him, struck him to the floor. Nothing softened his landing and he fell hard, but the slow-motion had ended just as abruptly as it had begun.  
  
Half faint with pain he looked up. He saw eyes that looked straight through him, heard a voice that was hardly audible, little more than a soft hiss. And yet he understood what it was saying.  
  
And what it said filled him with a feeling beyond all fear.  
  
Completely paralysed, he stared at the unearthly face rising towards him from the depths of the nightmare. And he felt that He had always been there. He, Lord Voldemort, nearer now than ever before, was showing him his face, openly.  
  
And he saw what couldn't be.  
  
Eternity is a long time to spend with such hatred in your eyes, but He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named had done it.  
  
And the demons of confusion and fear had a place for him, far beneath the earth, where flames consumed any soul that was not like His.  
  
The black mask of death bent down towards Harry, and its claws scratched his face, marking him across his forehead with the wandering red mark of death.  
  
Mystery and confusion.  
  
Where there were no answers, neither were there questions.  
  
A wand was raised, and like a distant hiss Harry heard the words "Avada Kedavra". And at the same time, something grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and dragged him upwards, into the blackness.  
  
Screaming, he woke up, breathing heavily, eyes wide open. - and saw a large face, red with anger, directly in front of his nose.  
  
"Are you out of your mind?!" Uncle Vernon thundered, beside himself with rage. "What do you think you're doing, screaming down the house in the middle of the night?!"  
  
Although Harry could still feel the horror of the dream in every limb, he couldn't resist the sarcastic thought that his uncle was doing exactly that which he had just accused him of. He stared at him in silence.  
  
Vernon Dursley had turned the colour of an overripe tomato, and, since his neck was verging on the non-existent at the best of times, he looked rather like one, too.  
  
"Petunia is beside herself!" he hissed. "You've frightened her to death, screaming like that! She already has enough nightmares thanks to you, boy! I don't want to hear another peep out of you! Have I made myself clear?"  
  
He didn't wait for an answer, simply turned on his heel, stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Harry sat motionless in bed. He hardly cared about his uncle's lecture. The good thing about it, although Harry was reluctant to admit it, was that Uncle Vernon had freed him from his nightmare. He sighed and looked at the clock. Half past three. Almost morning. He could hear the first birds twittering outside. Determined, he threw back the blanket and stood up. He was more than happy to go without any more sleep. It was too likely that the dream would come back - the terrifying pictures were still too clear before his eyes.  
  
He pushed open the window and leaned out. In the east, a band of light across the horizon showed that it would soon be sunrise.  
  
Quietly Harry pulled up a chair and sat down, staring thoughtfully at the sky. Since Lord Voldemort had regained his body and called his Death Eaters to him, this recurring nightmare had haunted him. He needed no help interpreting it. Harry knew full well what it meant. And this knowledge filled him with dread. The cold, faceless figures in the courtroom were Voldemort's Death Eaters. And the grotesque white face that had pursued him along the corridor was Voldemort himself. And the mark.  
  
Automatically Harry felt for the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. The wandering red mark of death.  
  
His parents, Lily and James Potter, had been murdered by Voldemort. Only Harry had survived, protected by the love of his mother who had died to save him. All that Voldemort had been able to give him was this scar, and his power had been scattered on the wind the moment he had laid hands on the one-year-old boy. Since then, Harry had found out that Voldemort, against his will, had instilled some of his own powers into Harry. And besides, there were many parallels between one of the greatest wizards of all time, the murderer Lord Voldemort, and Harry, the boy who lived. The ability to speak Parseltongue. The same wand. The young Voldemort had even looked quite similar to the way Harry looked now.  
  
Harry stared into the small mirror which lay amongst the various other things on his desk. He sighed, took off his glasses and looked more closely. Slim figure, dark hair. like Tom M. Riddle. And his eyes. what colour did Voldemort's eyes use to be?  
  
Harry shuddered, and angrily he pushed the mirror aside. The sudden movement made Hedwig flap her wings loudly in her cage.  
  
"I'm not like him. We have nothing in common," Harry snorted. "Not really."  
  
As if for reassurance, he pulled his school uniform out of his half-packed suitcase. The red-gold emblem of the Gryffindor House gleamed back at him.  
  
"Gryffindor, not Slytherin," he thought fiercely, "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor!"  
  
"Because that's the house you chose, remember?" said a second voice in his subconscious mind. "And because of the Prophesy."  
  
Angrily Harry stared in front of him. The Prophesy. to be honest, he would have been happier if he had never known about it. He might not have understood why Voldemort never stopped hunting him, why he was always after his blood. But he would have been free from the knowledge that he must become a murderer if the Dark Lord were ever to leave this world for good.  
  
"And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."  
  
This seemed to be the truth. Harry could hardly describe his life so far as normal. Not even considering that he was a wizard. He, like Voldemort, was a prisoner of the Prophesy. And the Dark Lord seemed much more determined to clear away his 'problem' than Harry was.  
  
The door to his room opened once more, interrupting his gloomy train of thought. Aunt Petunia entered and fixed her eyes on her nephew, who silently answered her gaze.  
  
"I waited until Vernon was asleep." Petunia Dursley quietly shut the door behind her and leant against the wall next to the window. "He wouldn't want me to speak to you. let alone understand what I'm about to say." She bent over and hissed: "And you won't say a word to him about my being here!"  
  
Harry bit back an ironic remark about not speaking to Vernon any more than was necessary, and nodded. He was curious to see what his aunt wanted.  
  
"You were talking in your sleep," Petunia said.  
  
Avoiding her eyes, Harry said quietly: "I often do."  
  
"I've heard you." His aunt looked at him thoughtfully. "Why were you dreaming about You-Know-Who?"  
  
Now Harry could scarcely contain his surprise. He stared at her in astonishment. "How...?" he gasped, "How do you know about him?" The memories of the previous summer flooded back and he pressed her further. "How do you know about the Dementors, and that they guard Askaban? How do you know what kind of place that is? How do you..?"  
  
Aunt Petunia raised her hand, and he paused. "Keep the noise down, or do you want your uncle to wake up again?"  
  
For a few seconds neither spoke a word and they listened for sounds in the next room. But only the regular snores of Mr. Dursley could be heard through the wall.  
  
"You don't know about your grandparents. You don't know about everything that happened after my sister started going to that magic school and met.that..Potter." She positively spat out the name. "You don't know what happened when she made the mistake of following him. Her blind, naïve love brought ruin on us all. Your wretched father was to blame!" She was speaking quietly, but every word resounded like a scream of anger in Harry's ears. "She would never have got involved with those people if it wasn't for him. That wizarding scum would never have bothered about us if she'd have listened. Your grandparents would still be alive - both of them! You'd never have been born. Oh how I wish things had turned out that way."  
  
Harry stared at her in bewilderment, trying to process these small scraps of information. "Voldemort killed them.?"  
  
"Two of his Death Eaters. Shortly before your parents were killed. No one should be left, who knew. No one. But you survived. And so did I. The good thing was that none of those monsters knew about me." She jabbed her pointed finger into Harry's chest. He could feel her fingernail digging through his shirt and into his skin. "Why do you think I want nothing to do with your world? Why I never wanted you here? Because my family's important to me, and your very presence is putting them in danger!"  
  
"But you had no choice," Harry growled, pushing her hand away. "Dumbledore forced you to take me. Because this house is the only protection I have."  
  
"And our ruin!" Petunia snapped, looked up in alarm and lowered her voice again. "Listen, I don't want anything to do with this magic nonsense - not because I'm intolerant but because I have good reasons. This world that you," she snorted, "love so much destroyed my family and I'm not going to let that happen again because of you!"  
  
"As soon as Voldemort is dead, you'll be rid of me for good. I won't have to stay a minute longer," Harry hissed back angrily.  
  
"If he were dead I wouldn't be half as afraid as I am now!" she spat back.  
  
"Then we have something in common." Harry stared pointedly out of the window. His mind was reeling with a flood of new information, answers to questions that he had been to afraid to ask, and anger at his aunt's hostility. The last thing he wanted was to be able to understand her and her vehement rejection of the world of magic. And it annoyed him that he did.  
  
Petunia crossed her arms. "Until he dies. When's that going to be? Someone would have to kill him to make him disappear for good. And who's going to do that?"  
  
Harry continued looking out of the window. He found it easier to talk when he didn't have to look at her. "I'm the only one who can."  
  
His aunt made a noise that was something between a hiss and a snort. "You? Why should you of all people be able to do that?"  
  
Harry dropped his head and ran both hands through his hair. "If I knew.", he murmured, "if only I knew."  
  
***  
  
Harry was silent at breakfast, as usual. The Dursleys didn't like it when he talked. They knew he was forbidden to do magic during the holidays - and the thing they were most afraid of was that he would - but still. you never knew what unforgivable words might slip off the tongue of this abnormal boy who had no place in their orderly world. Uncle Vernon tapped Dudley's chubby finger as he reached for a second helping of bacon.  
  
"You're still on a diet, my boy," he said, taking the slice himself. Harry gave a quick grin. The "diet" had had no effect whatsoever on Dudley. Even when Aunt Petunia kept her beloved son on a course of fruit and vegetables for weeks (much to Dudley's disgust, of course) he never lost a pound. Harry suspected that he stocked up on sweets at school or with his friends. As a result, the only physical difference between Uncle Vernon and Dudley was that Vernon had grey hair and a moustache.  
  
Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, had something her husband and son lacked: an incredibly long neck, especially useful for peering over fences into the houses and gardens of her neighbours.  
  
And Harry? He wasn't that much shorter than Dudley any more. He was still thin, almost delicate, but his once childish face had taken on a new maturity. In his behaviour and the way he spoke he seemed much older than Dudley, but the Dursleys would never admit this or even, least of all Uncle Vernon, notice it at all. This didn't bother Harry much. As usual he had to clear the table and wash up after the meal. For a moment he wondered if it would be amusing to drop a plate and tell the outraged Dursleys that he had been trying out a spell.  
  
A loud ring interrupted his train of thought. He heard a snorting noise - Uncle Vernon waddling to the door. The quiet squeak of the door handle. Then a friendly but meaningful "Good morning, Mr. Dursley."  
  
Harry dropped the towel he was drying his hands with and hurried out of the kitchen into the hall. The front door was open. Harry smiled, delighted but openly surprised. "Hermione?"  
  
She grinned back. Uncle Vernon, who was standing next to her, snorted again. "If she'd have come on a broomstick I'd have called the police!"  
  
Hermione Granger waved this aside. "My parents brought me. or rather, they wanted to visit a cousin of my mother's and I asked them to bring me with them. They're picking me up afterwards. - I just wanted to see how you were, Harry."  
  
Harry could hardly grasp the fact that Uncle Vernon had knowingly let a young witch into his house.  
  
". and ask if you wanted to spend the last two days of the holidays with me and then with Ron. We'd go to London tomorrow to buy the new books and meet him there."  
  
A glance at his Uncle's face told Harry enough. He seemed delighted at the prospect of getting rid of his nephew earlier than expected from his magicless house.  
  
"If you like we can go straight away," Hermione continued.  
  
Uncle Vernon nodded towards the stairs. "Go on, get upstairs. Pack your things."  
  
"Great idea." Harry laughed and ran up the stairs to his bedroom. Hermione followed. Uncle Vernon was watching her closely, but she seemed not to notice, or else she was very good at ignoring him.  
  
Up in Harry's room she gave him a hand with his packing. It was important not to forget anything - all his schoolbooks, clothes, the Firebolt, his broom maintenance kit, the Invisibility Cloak. Gradually everything that hadn't been packed found its way into the suitcase.  
  
"I see you haven't done your Herbology yet," observed Hermione, glancing over the homework that Harry had done during his time at the Dursley's. "And the essay for Professor Flitwick on the history of."  
  
"Missing as well, I know," Harry interrupted. "I'm sure I'll have a lot more time to do that at your house, without the continual threat of my books being thrown into the fire if I leave them open - since every word in them could be so terribly dangerous."  
  
Hermione smiled indulgently. "I doubt it. - at least I doubt you'll have much more time for your homework when you're staying with us."  
  
When the Grangers arrived to pick up Harry and their daughter, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia regarded them with evident distaste and, at first, some anxiety. The meeting with the Weasleys last year was still too fresh in their minds. But they soon realised that the Grangers weren't a wizarding family and seemed "completely normal". They even had, much to Uncle Vernon's satisfaction, a normal, decent job.  
  
The luggage was packed away in the car and soon they were on their way. Harry leant back seat with a sigh of contentment. It was almost too good to be true. He was escaping from the Dursleys before the start of term, and this time without any arguments or commotion. A unique experience, he thought, amused. 


	2. At the Grangers’

2. At the Grangers'  
  
Although Hermione's parents were Muggles, they were quite definitely some of the nicest people Harry knew. They didn't have a problem with the fact that their daughter, in the eyes of most people, was 'abnormal', nor with the magical world that she lived in. Unlike Harry's relations, they didn't forbid Hermione to study - in fact they supported her. Harry had even seen the two of them in Diagon Alley, buying Hermione's new school books in Flourish & Blotts.  
  
The disadvantage of it all was that Harry had no choice but to do the rest of his homework. And so that afternoon he found himself sitting on the Grangers' terrace with a pile of school books in front of his nose and a feather quill in his hand. Hermione was sitting next to him and reading some heavy old tome, the very sight of which made Harry feel drowsy, while Harriet Granger served them tea and scones.  
  
"I baked them for you today - I hope you like the blueberry filling, Harry. I made a cake as well - you can take that to the Weasleys tomorrow as a present. It's so kind of them to take you both to the station. Ian has two nice bottles of wine as well, and." She paused, wandering what else she could send as a little present. Harry smiled to himself. Mrs. Granger reminded him very much of Ron's mother, Molly Weasley. Both had the same bustle about them. But unlike Mrs. Weasley, Harriet had a rather deep and pleasant voice.  
  
Once the teacups were full, each with a generous helping of sugar - were the Grangers trying to ensure a steady supply of customers in their practice? - Harriet left them to themselves. Listlessly Harry noted down the ingredients and dosage for a potion against fire. He hadn't the faintest idea what he would ever use it for. He was just about to push aside the finished page when Hermione placed her hand on it, holding it down. "You've forgotten the formula," she said.  
  
"Formula?" Harry stared at his notes.  
  
"Yes, the words you have to say when you drink it. "Fire, as I found you, you shall disappear like the dew into the grass, like the dead man into his grave". That's written there too." She pointed at the Herbology book.  
  
"Yes, but it does say it's not really proven whether or not the formula has any effect on the potion," he protested. "So I don't have to copy it." Hermione brushed this aside. "Write it down and then add that paragraph about its effect not being proven, and then you're done."  
  
Harry looked reluctantly at the text. More writing.  
  
"I don't want to compete with you for the top marks" he said, shutting the book. "Besides, Professor Sprout would think I'd copied your homework." He winked at her and reached for the Charms textbook. Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"I can't imagine how you can be so lazy and still get through all your exams," she grumbled. "Not to mention Ron."  
  
She plunged back into her book and Harry chose not to continue the conversation. The annoying thing about Hermione's scolding was that she really was capable of making him feel guilty. Sighing, he picked up the Herbology textbook, wrote down the formula and explained that its effect was not proven. He masterfully ignored the triumphant grin that Hermione was hiding behind her book.  
  
***  
  
That evening, a business friend of the Grangers came to visit - Vincent Marvers, who looked about forty but already had snow-white hair. He fell into an animated conversation with Hermione's father, while Hermione and Harry helped Mrs. Granger in the kitchen. For Harry this was a matter of course. Living with the Dursleys, he was forced to do the housework, but here he was lending a hand out of choice, and was rewarded with a grateful smile from Mrs. Granger.  
  
"I wish more men would help in the house," she grinned, handing him the plates and cutlery. "The only time I catch Ian in here is when there's a problem with the drain. or when he wants to fiddle around with the dishwasher. You should have seen the mess in here afterwards. it would be so wonderful to be able to do magic instead of spending half the day scrubbing the walls and floors. - Oh Harry, wait a second, I've forgotten the serviettes."  
  
Together, Hermione and Harry carried out the plates and cutlery and set the table. Since the weather was warm they were eating on the terrace. Harry enjoyed the fact that he was accepted without question as a member of the Granger family and involved in all their activities. He could say without hesitation that he felt very comfortable with Hermione's family.  
  
When they sat down at the table and started their meal, Marvers asked about Harry, and which school Hermione was attending. The Grangers answered without any embarrassment. Obviously, they didn't let slip anything that the Muggle world was not supposed to know about, but they told him that their daughter was at school in Scotland and that she liked it very much. They didn't need to lie about Hermione's grades, or about the fact that Harry was a school-friend who was spending one day of his holiday with them.  
  
A roguish grin formed on Marver's lips. "He's staying the night, then? So I can assume he's more than just a school-friend?"  
  
Harry looked up from his steak in astonishment at this assumption, while Hermione tossed back her hair in her usual way and glared disapprovingly at her father's friend. "That's right, he's my best friend," she said sharply.  
  
At first Marvers looked surprised, and Harry was rather afraid he would laugh at Hermione's behaviour, although his own could hardly be called better in view of his last remark, but then he began to chuckle to himself. "Glad we've settled that one," he said then, winked at them and took a second helping.  
  
After they had eaten a delicious dessert - Harriet's cherry gateau - the Grangers started to talk about dentistry with their guest. Hermione excused herself, stood up and nodded to Harry. Together they wandered out into the garden.  
  
"They can talk about the latest drill prices and filling techniques without us." She grinned. "Not the most interesting of topics. Almost as bad as history with Professor Binns."  
  
Harry laughed softly, letting Hermione lead him through the darkened garden. The Grangers owned quite a lot of land and seemed to have a taste for luxury. The only grass to be seen was on the pathways between flowerbeds full of bushes and shrubs. Some of the plants were over three meters high and formed alcoves which themselves looked like miniature gardens. In one alcove there was a large pond with a water feature, in the next some magnificent rose bushes and in a third a small well surrounded by stones. With a sigh, Hermione sank down onto a stone bench. She folded her arms behind her head and stared into the faintly glowing night sky. "Here we'll be out of earshot, and Marvers won't pick up anything he shouldn't."  
  
Harry laid face downwards on the other stone bench and stretched luxuriously. "Like the idea that I could be more than just a school-friend to you?" he joked, and immediately regretted his words. Why on earth had he said that? It was lucky the moon wasn't shining brightly enough to reveal that he was blushing.  
  
Hermione laughed softly and turned her head towards him. "Well, how much more would you like to be?" Harry gave an exclamation of surprise which made her laugh even more. She rolled off her bench and squatted in front of him on the grass, looking at him in amusement. She laid her hands on the edge of his bench and rested her head on them. Harry looked at her in surprise. Was it a serious question? Did she want a serious answer?  
  
"Well. I." he muttered and noticed that his voice was hoarse. Hermione put her head on one side and looked at him intently. How could he answer without hurting her feelings, if she was serious, or making himself look stupid, if she was joking? As she had said earlier at the dinner table, she was his best friend. There was no other girl in the world who answered to that description. Hermione was the only one who understood him without words, who knew what he was thinking better than anyone else and who was always there for him. And the same applied to him. He had come to know Hermione well - very well. And whenever necessary he had protected her, and would continue to do so in the future. This wasn't something he wanted to risk with any stupid answer.  
  
"I want to be what you need," he said, finally finding the right words to express what he felt.  
  
Hermione blinked. The mischievous look had gone from her face and she now looked very serious. Harry started to worry that he'd said the wrong thing after all, but then she reached out and took off his glasses. "All these years and I've never looked at them so closely," she said softly, looking searchingly into his eyes. "They really are emerald-green."  
  
"You can see that in this light?" he joked. Then he realised that the moon was now shining into his face. Of course she could see. but for him her eyes were still in the darkness.  
  
"Move up a bit," she said, getting up. Harry obediently levered himself up on the bench and leant against a tree trunk behind him. Hermione sat down next to him. She still had his glasses in her hand and played with the side pieces, leaning her head against his shoulder. Harry felt increasingly warm and his heart beat loudly and nervously, but at the same time he enjoyed her closeness. And so for a while they simply sat there, close together, lost in their thoughts.  
  
"How were the holidays?" Hermione asked, finally breaking the silence. "I mean.because of. Have you thought a lot about him?"  
  
Harry knew she was talking about Sirius, and he sighed. "Much too often," he admitted. "I miss him so much."  
  
Memories flooded into his mind and he felt for the mirror in his pocket. He would never be able to reach Sirius that way, but he couldn't bring himself to leave it behind. It had been the last present his godfather had given to him. And even though it was no use without him, he wouldn't go an inch without it.  
  
A few moments later they heard muffled voices on the terrace and realised that Vincent Marvers was leaving. "I think we should go back," Hermione murmured. "Before Marvers develops his theory any further." She raised her head from Harry's shoulder and kissed him before giving him back his glasses. The kiss was short and gentle, but it was enough to make the tips of Harry's ears burn. Rather dazed, he put his glasses back on and saw that Hermione was already leaving the alcove. Hastily he scrambled off the bench and followed her.  
  
Marvers was just about to leave. Hermione said goodbye to him swiftly and confidently, and next to her Harry felt like a self-conscious idiot who was either trying to hide something or who was, quite simply, an idiot. Luckily Marvers still seemed more occupied with various forms of dental treatment, and this time he dropped no embarrassing hints. Ian went with him to the door, while Harriet cleared the table. Without speaking, Harry and Hermione went to help her.  
  
"You two must be tired," said Mrs. Granger, interpreting their silence. "I'll do the rest myself - you can go on up to your room." But both of them insisted on clearing up first. After Hermione had taken off the table cloth and Harry had pushed the garden chairs under the awning, Mrs. Granger shooed them upstairs without protest. She showed Harry the room while Hermione disappeared to the bathroom. The bedroom was very large, and besides Hermione's bed and the usual cupboards there was a pull-out couch in front of a TV set. Harriet had laid out cushions and blankets, and Harry's luggage was neatly arranged in the alcove between the wall and the couch. After wishing them goodnight, Mrs. Granger went back downstairs to tidy the kitchen.  
  
"I'd love to use magic to clear up the kitchen for her," said Harry, as Hermione - toothbrush in mouth - rummaged in her cupboard for her nightclothes. "Can't the Ministry make an exception for good magic during the holidays?"  
  
"It makes sense this way," mumbled Hermione, trying not to swallow the toothpaste. She hurried to the bathroom to rinse out her mouth and came back dressed in a long nightie. Harry grabbed his shorts and t-shirt and made his own way to the bathroom. He still had a peculiar feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. He stood for a moment in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. Was there anything different about him that would explain why Hermione was so attracted to him? The same tousled dark hair that he could never get under control. The same eyes. The same. well, the rest of his features had changed a little bit. But basically he was the same.  
  
An idea stole up on him which put an immediate dampener on his excitement. Was she just acting out of sympathy, knowing how deeply Sirius' death had affected him?  
  
This suspicion gave way to anxiety. He bent over the washbasin and splashed a few handfuls of water over his face. 'Not Hermione', he reproached himself. She wouldn't do that. Or would she? Or was he just worrying too much?  
  
When he returned to the bedroom, all the lights were off apart from a small standard lamp next to his couch. Hermione was lying in bed, and for a moment he thought she was already asleep. He paused at the head of her bed and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead before almost shyly breathing a kiss onto her cheek. "Good night," he murmured.  
  
"Good night, Harry," she answered softly, without opening her eyes. But she was smiling.  
  
The couch was piled so high with cushions that Harry wondered if Mrs. Granger thought he was the princess on the pea. He arranged a few of them, switched off the light and sank down on the couch. For a while he silently stared into the darkness.  
  
He was on the point of falling asleep when he heard short creak followed by soft footsteps. A moment later Hermione slipped under his blanket. Silently he put his arm around her and she snuggled up against him.  
  
"At Hogwarts they'd kill us for this," Harry remarked.  
  
Hermione laughed softly. "I'm afraid they would. that's why I'm here now."  
  
He laughed too. Then he was silent for a moment before voicing his nagging thought. "Why me, Hermione?"  
  
"What do you mean?" She yawned sleepily.  
  
"Well. Because there's already a famous Quidditch player who's interested in you, and a friend who's insanely jealous of said famous Quidditch player."  
  
"You don't even need to ask about Viktor." Again, she sounded amused. "You understood better than Ron that I wasn't serious about him. And as for Ron himself.he.he's jealous of you too. He's jealous of anyone he thinks of as a rival."  
  
"Then he'll hate both of us now," Harry concluded. "I'm taking you away from him, you're taking me away from him."  
  
"That's rubbish!" Hermione growled. "And he ought to know that."  
  
Harry sighed. "I hope he will see it that way.But you still haven't answered my question."  
  
"Do I have to?" she asked softly, burying her head deeper into his shirt. "Don't you already know?"  
  
Harry started to think. His thoughts went back to the first year he'd spent at Hogwarts. He and Ron had thought that Hermione was a silly little swot, always poking her nose in where she wasn't wanted. But in the end she had helped them a lot, and with time she had become an irreplaceable friend. She had been the brains of the group, and Harry and Ron had supported her through the terrifying situations they had found themselves in. And at the same time, she had looked out for them. For the first time, Harry realised how often in the last four years she had thrown her arms around his neck in joy or concern. And how afraid he'd been when she was petrified by the basilisk. and how much it had bothered him when Hermione went to the Yule ball with Krum. Grinning, he remembered how he and Ron had gawped like a couple of idiots at Hermione, who had looked so different with her sleek hair and elegant ball-gown that at first they hadn't recognised her at all. Up till then, both of them had seen her only as their best friend and never as the very pretty girl that she was.  
  
"The thing I do know is that I'm a complete idiot," Harry admitted now, smiling and pulling her closer. Hermione had always been there. And he had taken it for granted, not thought about it for a moment. He really was an idiot. How could he have thought that she was just feeling sorry for him?  
  
She replied only with a brief giggle, and then they fell silent. In a few moments she was asleep. She lay in Harry's arms, breathing peacefully and softly, and he could still hardly believe it. That night, for the first time in months, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.  
  
It must have been about four o'clock when a sudden gust of wind blew through the open window and rustled the curtains. For a few seconds it seemed as if an autumn storm were raging outside. Harry heard a long drawn- out howl which made him wake up with a start, and felt a dull, burning pain in his forehead. He pressed his hand against his scar groaned softly. The curtain thrashed the wall, glass broke somewhere outside and a dog began to bark loudly. Hermione sat up in alarm. "What's happened?"  
  
Green lightning pierced the darkness of the night and a bone-chilling scream rang out in the silence.  
  
Harry clenched his jaw and tried to concentrate on driving all thoughts from his head. In his panic the scar on his forehead seemed to throb like a second heartbeat, and through the pain he scarcely felt Hermione leaning over him to run her hand over his cheek. "You're burning up Harry." She gazed into his contorted face. "The scar," she murmured.  
  
Harry gasped for air. "He's. killed again," he panted. "Dammit, he." He bit into the cushion to stop himself crying out as he was hit by a fresh wave of pain. Hermione's fingers dug anxiously into his shoulder but he hardly noticed. After a few seconds, which seemed like forever to him, the pain lessened and he could breathe again. Gasping, he sank back into the cushions, his hand still pressed against his forehead.  
  
"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione's voice was shrill with panic.  
  
He gesticulated with his free hand. "I'm alright now." He reached out for her and pulled her close as if to comfort her for what he'd just experienced. "It's.it.." He sat up and flicked on the lamp next to the couch. Warm light drove away the cold darkness. The curtain was still billowing gently but the howl of the storm had died away.  
  
"He's killed someone," he muttered.  
  
"Voldemort?" Hermione had sat up too and was staring at him in horror.  
  
Harry nodded. "Yes. He.I...I didn't really see. Luckily."  
  
"See?" She repeated. "Why should you see anything? You're supposed to close off your mind to him, Professor Snape was."  
  
"Well you try doing that when you feel like you're being skewered," he hissed and rubbed his throbbing scar, not mentioning the fact that, admittedly through his own fault, he had learnt next to nothing from Snape. Harry threw back the blanket and switched on the television. Impatiently he flicked through the channels.  
  
"Do you really think you'll find out anything there?" Hermione nodded at the TV screen.  
  
"I want to be sure. There might be a report," Harry answered, selecting a news channel and sitting down again on the couch. Hermione sat down next to him.  
  
"You can always feel it, when he kills..?"  
  
Harry nodded dumbly.  
  
"And sometimes you see it too?"  
  
"I always see something." he said quietly. "Not much, but enough to." He broke off, shuddering. "I want it to stop."  
  
Hermione looked at him. "It will only stop when Voldemort is dead."  
  
"I know," he answered. "I hate that thought as much as I hate knowing when he murders someone."  
  
She narrowed her eyes slightly and he sighed. His mind was reeling with all the events of the last school year and all the information he'd received. As yet only Dumbledore knew everything that he did. And when would he get the chance to speak to the headmaster? He looked at Hermione, wondering if he ought to confess everything to her. The whole truth, even though many details would be difficult to speak out loud. And even though he knew she would blame him for certain things he hadn't done due to his own stupidity, or rather his foolish stubbornness.  
  
Would she still care about him if she knew everything? Harry sighed. It would be better for him to lay his cards openly on the table. There was no other person in the world with whom he could discuss this seriously. Not even Ron would understand everything. Nor did Harry want to burden his friend with the knowledge.  
  
After a moment's hesitation, he took Hermione's hand and looked steadily into her eyes. "I have to tell you something.about me. And Voldemort.. And a few other things if you want to hear them."  
  
Hermione swallowed, but nodded straight away. "Everything you have to tell," she said softly. And Harry, his hand still in hers, began to tell her.  
  
***  
  
It was almost six thirty in the morning and the sound of birdsong had been filling the room for quite some time. The morning sun slipped through the curtain onto the couch where the two of them were still sitting, Harry with his back against the wall and Hermione lying across his lap, both staring thoughtfully ahead of them. Absentmindedly, he let his fingers glide through her bushy hair as he watched the flickering pictures on the television screen. He had been afraid to speak about everything. Why he'd let himself be tricked by Voldemort and how Sirius had died as a result. The confrontation with Bellatrix Lestrange in the entrance hall of the Ministry. Voldemort, and then Dumbledore's appearance. Aunt Petunia. The Prophesy. Hermione had listened to everything without speaking. Every detail, without interrupting him. And she was still here next to him. She hadn't turned away, despite all his stupid mistakes. Despite the revelation that he must either murder or be murdered himself.  
  
He felt a sense of relief that he hadn't felt for a very long time. He saw now that it had done him good to speak about everything, as if he'd been able to share something of the heavy burden he was carrying. He was alone no longer. And he was just enjoying the feeling when the television adverts were interrupted and a newsreader gave the report that Harry had been waiting for.  
  
"We've just received news that the body of a young woman his been found near Little Whinging in Surrey."  
  
Harry sat up so suddenly that Hermione was almost catapulted off the couch. She turned over hastily and stared like him at the TV screen. It showed a street filled with police cars and an ambulance. A street Harry knew very well. It was the street running parallel to Privet Drive.  
  
".recovered the body at 6.07 this morning. The cause of death is as yet unknown. No evidence was found to indicate an attack or any form of physical abuse. As yet the police have no concrete leads. It is hoped that an autopsy will reveal more." The on-site reporter glanced at a stretcher, covered by a yellow cloth, which was being carried past her. "Police reports state that the victim is not a local. Her place of origin is unknown, and no papers were found on her. We would ask anyone who knows who she is to contact the local police station on the number shown below. All calls are confidential and the police will be grateful for any help you can provide."  
  
A hastily-drawn sketch of the victim appeared on the screen. A few details were missing, but her identity was unmistakeable. Harry went pale with horror, and Hermione could hardly repress a shrill scream.  
  
The unknown woman was Nymphadora Tonks. 


	3. In Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes

3. In Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes  
  
On the way to London, both of them were unusually quiet. Ian was driving, and to avoid catching his eye they had buried themselves in their school books. From time to time Mr. Granger made jokes about how studious they were. But they weren't even reading. Hermione, like Harry, was staring at the letters without seeing them. Now and then one of them remembered to turn a page, but apart from that they neither moved nor spoke.  
  
Ian dropped them off by the Leaky Cauldron and they unloaded their luggage. Through the pub and the moving wall they reached the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.  
  
"Where do you think Ron is?" Hermione wondered, looking round. Harry pointed to a small shop next to Madam Malkins' Suits for All Occasions and for the first time that day a grin spread across his face. "Probably in "Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes?"  
  
Hermione followed his gaze and grinned as well. "So Fred and George really did it."  
  
They pushed open the door and entered the shop. They immediately recognised many of the products on sale: Nosebleed Nougat, Puking Pastilles, Terror Tarts, Canary Creams, Ton-Tongue Toffees, Goosebump Biscuits, Drowsey Doughnuts and jars full of all sorts of other trick snacks were arranged in rows on the shelves and on the long counter. Further into the shop they saw the already legendary Wildfire Whiz-bangs which had squealed their way through the corridors of Hogwarts for hours at a time, much to the displeasure of the ghastly Dolores Umbridge. They also recognised the Extendable Ears and Fake Wands.  
  
"Welcome to the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes" exclaimed Fred, appearing behind the counter and grinning delightedly. "Harry, Hermione, we knew you'd come."  
  
"We knew it!" echoed George, appearing through a door next to the fireworks. "Look around and be amazed - we'll make a fortune with this shop! You can't imagine how well the nougat's selling. But we've saved some especially for you!"  
  
Proudly, he presented Harry with a small paper bag full of nougat. "Do you want any toffees? Every new customer gets a free packet. - But then. you're not exactly new customers."  
  
Hermione thanked him, but shook her head. "Best not, George. I. don't really think I'll need them."  
  
"Then what about a Lazy Quill? Our latest product. If you're too lazy to revise, you use it to copy down your notes and during the test it'll carry on writing by itself if your mind goes blank."  
  
Hermione snorted. "You can't sell things like that! That's cheating!"  
  
George grinned at her broadly. "Considering how intelligent I am, I use my brains for the most stupid things. But I'm hungry. I'll get us something. Fred, can I borrow some Galleons? I think a few of Dana's Doughnuts would be perfect."  
  
He helped himself to some coins from his brother's wallet and hurried out of the shop. Fred stretched out behind the counter. "So, how were the holidays? And what about your OWL results?"  
  
Harry and Hermione looked at each other. So far they hadn't spoken a word about OWLs.  
  
"Well, I was very happy with my results," Hermione said. "Apart from Astronomy, of course."  
  
Harry gave a wry grin. "We all had problems with that one."  
  
"Any 'Outstanding's, Harry?" asked Fred. Hermione looked at Harry with interest.  
  
"In Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Harry, grinning. "With distinction."  
  
Fred laughed. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"  
  
"Um I..I did get another one," Harry continued rather nervously. His friends looked at him curiously.  
  
"Well?" Hermione asked, evidently wondering in what other subject he could possibly have been 'Outstanding'.  
  
"In a subject I really didn't expect to do well in," he coughed. "Potions".  
  
Fred stared at him in astonishment. "Say that again?" he said, pretending to clean out his ears.  
  
"Potions," Harry repeated in a small voice.  
  
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "But you were never good in class."  
  
"Not with Snape," Fred agreed. "Perhaps it was down to him, the old crow. Which examiner did you have, Harry?"  
  
"Professor Marchbanks," Harry said.  
  
At the mention of his name, a broad grin appeared on Fred's face. "Okay, that explains it. Marchbanks isn't exactly famous for his strictness - and he thinks very highly of you. Any other.anomalies in your results?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "No, the rest are E's and A's."  
  
"And not a single T for Troll?" asked a voice behind them. "How disappointing!"  
  
They turned around.  
  
"Ron!" Harry exclaimed happily, and Hermione beamed. Delightedly they greeted the third member of their group. At the same moment George appeared with a large bag of doughnuts. "Shall wit sit down? There's a lot to discuss."  
  
***  
  
A short time later they were sitting together at a large table at the back of the shop. Ginny Weasley had arrived too, bringing Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood with her. Fred raised a glass of Butterbeer. "To the DA - er, even though we can't be full members any more." He winked at Harry.  
  
"Do we still need the DA?" Ginny asked. "I mean, we've got rid of Umbridge now. And maybe we'll have more luck with the new teacher this year."  
  
"I don't think we should give up the group," Hermione remarked. "Perhaps it should just serve a different purpose now."  
  
Ron frowned. "What purpose?"  
  
"Think about it." She leant forward. "We've managed to form a group of students from three different houses and all different ages. We've made friends. Remember what the Sorting Hat told us to do last year? We have to keep on meeting. And this year it won't be a problem at all. I'm sure that Dumbledore will be pleased. All we need is a few Slytherins to join, and."  
  
Ron spat his Butterbeer clean across the table. "Slytherins? Are you nuts? I'll eat a broomstick and Quaffle if any of them join!"  
  
"Just because they're Slytherins doesn't mean that they're all rotten little gits like Malfoy," she argued. "We need to be united!"  
  
Ron stared at her in fury. "There are no decent people in Slytherin. Only intolerant, self-satisfied idiots."  
  
"Like you?" cried Hermione, and Harry and Ginny jumped up to separate the two of them.  
  
"Calm down, Ron!" Ginny begged him, pulling him back down onto his chair.  
  
"But she compared me to a Slytherin!" her brother raged, trying to shake her off.  
  
Harry sighed. "She only meant that you're being just as intolerant as they are when you make generalisations like that - that's all. Just sit down, alright?"  
  
Ron sat down unwillingly.  
  
"Well, maybe there are a few nice people in Slytherin?" Neville mused.  
  
"Never!" Ron growled, but fell silent when Hermione glared at him.  
  
Harry rubbed his ear. "Maybe we never looked hard enough. They can't all be the same. Some of them must have a grain of common sense. We can give it a try, at any rate..."  
  
"And if we don't get anywhere?" Luna asked.  
  
Ron nodded in agreement. "Exactly. What happens if they are all rotten little." Another look from Hermione made him close his mouth abruptly.  
  
"We have to get somewhere with them," Hermione sighed. "We can only fight Voldemort -" at the mention of his name there were a few moans of protest, which she ignored - "if we work together. You know that he won't just be sitting around twiddling his thumbs. What if he shows up at Hogwarts?"  
  
"He won't," said George. "He's much too afraid of Dumbledore."  
  
Ginny grimaced. "Then he'll find a way of getting past him."  
  
"Even if he has to kill a dozen people on the way." Harry agreed bitterly. "He's already got started." He pulled out the latest issue of the Daily Prophet and slid it into the middle of the table. Fred looked at him closely.  
  
"You reckon he killed Tonks?"  
  
Harry looked at him grimly. "I don't just reckon - I know he did." He ran a finger over his scar. "I always know when he kills someone."  
  
The group exchanged meaningful glances.  
  
"We'll look around for a few suitable Slytherins," Harry decided. "Ones who don't really fit in with the others, and have as little as possible to do with Malfoy and his thugs. Two or three would be enough. And we mustn't make too big a deal out of watching them and asking them to join."  
  
His friends nodded.  
  
"Fine, see you in school tomorrow." He glanced at his watch. "Hermione and I still have to buy our new books."  
  
George nodded. "Leave your luggage in the shop with us and come back when you've got everything. Mum'll come and pick you up."  
  
"And I'll go with you," said Ron, standing up. "Ginny doesn't want me here anyway." His eye fell on Dean, who gave him a broad grin.  
  
Luna and Neville left the shop, with Ginny and Dean behind them. Harry, Hermione and Ron made their way to Flourish & Blotts.  
  
"It's a pity you couldn't come over yesterday," Ron said as they wandered through the crowd in Diagon Alley. Harry glanced at Hermione and they both grinned. Ron noticed.  
  
"You wouldn't have minded, would you? What's going on?" he asked, looking both curious and amused.  
  
"Um, shall we go for an ice-cream when we've got the books?" Harry suggested. "Then we can talk properly."  
  
Ron nodded and they went into Flourish and Blotts. They didn't have many books to buy for the new school year and had soon collected everything they needed. With the new books under their arms they left the shop and a few minutes later they were sitting around comfortably in the ice-cream parlour.  
  
"Well?" Ron asked, getting started on a large Quidditch ice-cream glass in which coloured scoops of different sizes represented the different balls. The three goalposts were made of icing and the waffle was shaped like a broomstick.  
  
Hermione stuck her spoon into her own glass, which was shaped like a witch. "Actually we do have something to tell you, but."  
  
".it doesn't mean you're going to be left out," Harry chimed in.  
  
"Or that you're in the way at all, because you know you're not," Hermione continued.  
  
Harry nodded. "Exactly. We're a team."  
  
Ron looked from one to the other. "And you couldn't find a simpler way of telling me that you're a pair?" he asked, stuffing the Snitch - a small ball of vanilla ice - into his mouth.  
  
Hermione and Harry exchanged an astonished glance. Although they'd hoped that Ron would accept the way things were, they'd been afraid that he'd be offended. But it didn't seem to bother him at all. "Congratulations," he said, tucking into the broomstick waffle. "Better than Cho Chang. Better than Krum. I don't like them. But I do like you." He grinned.  
  
Harry and Hermione grinned back.  
  
***  
  
Molly Weasley came to pick up Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Harry from Diagon Alley before it got dark. They found themselves in the kitchen of the Burrow in time for the evening meal. As usual, Mrs. Weasley had provided more than enough for everyone. However, the mood was rather sombre. Everyone in the family knew about Tonk's death and they were afraid that Voldemort would attack other members of the Order.  
  
"We have a new headquarters," sighed Arthur Weasley. "It just wasn't.safe. anymore in Grimmauld Place. We've got a house by the river, between Temple Pier and King's College. It belonged to a witch. It's small, but it'll do."  
  
Harry looked at the circle of people around him. Since that morning there was one question he'd been longing to ask, but he hadn't dared.  
  
"Why was Tonks in Little Whinging?"  
  
"Lots of us went to Little Whinging during the holidays," said Mrs. Weasley. "Remus, Moody, me, Tonks. To keep an eye on you."  
  
Harry stared at her. "But I'd been gone for more than fifteen hours when it happened. Why was Tonks still there? How did Voldemort find her?"  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley glanced at each other helplessly.  
  
"We don't know," Arthur admitted. "We'd expected Tonks back much earlier ourselves. We don't know what kept her there."  
  
Harry was clearly dissatisfied with this answer, but at that moment no one seemed to know any more details.  
  
After the meal, Mrs. Weasley sent Ron and Ginny to pack their suitcases, and Harry and Hermione joined them. Ron dumped his purchases from Diagon Alley on the bed and started to unpack them. Among the books and the readjusted cloak - he was now another size taller - were four bottles of Butterbeer which Fred and George had given him.  
  
"Let's hope that this year we'll be spared all Umbridges and similar atrocities!" he said, and grinning the four of them raised their glasses in a toast.  
  
"And that Fudge gets a decent brainwashing," growled Ginny.  
  
"And that he only sends the right people to Askaban, having made such a good start with Malfoy," Hermione snorted.  
  
"And that Voldemort will soon be burning in hell," Harry added grimly. Ron was the only one to wince at the name, but at least he didn't groan any more.  
  
"Yes," he nodded. "That too."  
  
And the bottles chinked together. 


	4. Attack by Harpies

4. Attack by Harpies  
  
As always at the start of the school year, platform 9¾ was full of people. With difficulty they pushed their way through the crowds of parents, brothers, sisters and relatives towards the train. Mr. Weasley helped them on board with their luggage, and Mrs. Weasley couldn't resist giving each of them a goodbye hug.  
  
"Take care of yourselves," she begged.  
  
"We will, Mum," Ron assured her as he struggled with Pig's cage. The little owl was hopping around excitedly and flapping its wings.  
  
Together they searched for a compartment. The last few carriages of the train were full to bursting, but in the last compartment they found Luna, who waved to them. "There's room in here, if you like," she called.  
  
The four of them nodded and joined her in the compartment. After arranging their suitcases in the luggage compartment, Ron and Hermione set off for the prefects' meeting further up the train. Luna kept an eye on Ron's owl. Harry stroked Crookshanks, who was sitting on his knee. The cat purred softly into his robe, its fur sparking with pleasure.  
  
Ron and Hermione soon returned. And it wasn't long before another, much more unwelcome figure appeared in the doorway.  
  
"It would've been so nice to be free of idiots like you this year," sneered Malfoy. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle smirked. "Maybe I should deduct points just because you're here."  
  
"I'd like to see you try," said Harry, grinning at him from behind five drawn wands. "How would you like to spend the train journey this time? Maybe as a Flubberworm?"  
  
Angrily Malfoy drew back and slammed the door of the compartment behind him. Ron grinned with satisfaction. "He's actually learning a bit of respect."  
  
They sat back in their seats. Luna started reading the latest edition of the "Quibbler", Hermione had one of her new schoolbooks on her knee, Ron was pulling out Pig's broken feathers, making the owl squawk with protest, and Ginny dosed by the window. Harry stared at the landscape as it rushed past.  
  
They hadn't been travelling more than an hour and a half when the sky started to darken. The sun disappeared behind grey clouds, the wind sprang up and the first raindrops clattered against the windowpanes. As it grew darker, the lights came on in the compartments and corridors of the train.  
  
"Look at that weather!" Hermione muttered, shivering. "And it's not even autumn yet!"  
  
Harry stared into the thick wall of cloud. Something about this weather was making him uneasy. Lightning flashed in the distance and they heard the growl of thunder. With the next flash of lightning they saw a dark bird in the middle of the cloud, darting towards them.  
  
"What the hell is that?" Ron had jumped up and pressed his nose against the window. Harry, Hermione, Luna and Ginny, wide awake now, followed his gaze in confusion. The horizon had turned black with a gigantic flock of birds which had appeared between the high banks of cloud and were coming closer by the minute. Harry had never seen anything like them. They glided through the air like a sinister cloak, blotting out the light. And he noticed with surprise that their shadows were rushing ahead of them, turning the landscape beneath them as black as night.  
  
"What are they?" he asked.  
  
"Harpies," said Luna, as if she were answering a question in a quiz. Next to her, Ron shivered. Frowning, Harry glanced at them both and then turned his attention to the creatures outside - and noticed that they weren't birds at all. They had long wings and powerful claws, like oversize eagles. But their heads were a grotesque cross between the face of a woman and that of a poisonous lizard. Shrill screams, soft at first, but then louder and louder, filled the air.  
  
Harry tried to remember what he had read about harpies. They were beasts that killed men and ate children, and lived in the mountains. The words of a song came into his mind, and like Ron before him, he shivered.  
  
She once was a woman, so young and so fair  
By all men was sought and admired  
To the mountains she'd call them, like lambs they would go  
And do anything she desired  
  
Then one fateful day to the mountains she led  
A young man to meet with his death  
He cried out so loud that his plea reached the gods  
In the agony of his last breath  
  
Her arms turned to feathers, the feathers turned black  
As black as her heart and her deed  
Her legs became claws and her voice a shrill scream  
And love but a torturous need  
  
Ghosts. Demons. A huge army of them, shrieking, streaming through the skies towards them.  
  
"No flocks have been sighted for almost fifteen years," said Hermione softly. She had dug her fingers so hard into her seat that her knuckles were white. In the other compartments, they could hear panic breaking out. "Not since Voldemort."  
  
The Hogwarts Express sped up but the harpies stubbornly held their course. Their powerful wings carried them closer and closer. Now Harry could see hundreds of ruby-red eyes gleaming in the blackness, as the flock followed the train like a pack of bloodhounds follows an easy prey. The shadow rushing before them slipped over the rails like the damp fingers of death, cloaking everything in its path in a terrifying darkness. Just a few more meters, and then they would reach the last carriage of the train.  
  
"We have to get out of here," Ron moaned. "They'll kill us all!"  
  
Hermione had already thrown open the door of their compartment. Out in the corridor, other students were pushing their way past in panic, trying to get out of the last carriage. Luna let Pig out of his cage. It would have been impossible for her to carry him in the chaos.  
  
The five of them pushed their way out into the corridor, with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle next to them. Roughly they jostled against each other. On the floor, Crookshanks hissed with anger, dug his claws into Crabbe's leg and shot into the next carriage, his fur standing on end.  
  
"Get out of the way, Potter!" Malfoy snarled. "You can bloody well stay here and get ripped apart by those."  
  
He didn't have the chance to finish his sentence. The carriage gave a violent jolt, knocking them all to the ground. The light above them flickered, then went out completely. Malfoy clutched at the window frame. In panic, Goyle squealed like a piglet and grabbed hold of him, making him let go in surprise. The carriage bucked like an angry horse and they slid back down towards the rear. Harry hit the wall, and Ron bumped against his leg. On the other side of the corridor, Malfoy was trying to pull himself up. Goyle and Crabbe had clutched hold of two posts. Hermione was sitting on the wall of a compartment and pulling herself up by the door to which Luna and Ginny were clinging. Ginny had her wand in her hand, and pointed it towards the luggage, which was scattered across the floor of the compartment. "Mobiliarmus!" she yelled, and the suitcases rose into the air and floated out into the corridor. They disappeared into the neighbouring carriage to join Crookshanks, who was yowling in protest.  
  
Another violent jolt and a loud crash of splintering glass. The rumble of the engine stopped abruptly and there was a deafening squeal of brakes. Ginny lost control of the luggage and the suitcases fell to the floor, accompanied by a hiss from Crookshanks, who had dived out of the way. With a blood-curdling scream, a grotesque black face appeared at the window of the corridor. Gleaming red eyes stared maliciously into the carriage. At the sight of them, Crabbe and Goyle panicked and rushed out of the carriage through the connecting door.  
  
"Miserable cowards!" Malfoy hissed, trying to stand up. Ron crawled on all fours across the swaying floor towards Hermione, who seized her wand a shouted "Lumos!". Light shot through the blackness and lit up the hideous face of a harpy, which had pressed its nose against the window. The demon's hot breath misted the glass. Blinded by the light, the harpy pulled back its head, and the students in the carriage heaved a sigh of relief. But suddenly the head swung back and hit the carriage with a loud crash, making it rock violently.  
  
"I hope this thing's safe," Ron said in a trembling voice, clutching hold of the post Goyle had been holding on to, and closing his eyes. "Oh please, please."  
  
A second crash, this time from the other side of the carriage. The springs creaked with the strain.  
  
"They're everywhere!" shrieked Malfoy. "They've surrounded the carriage! They know we're in here!"  
  
The jolts continued, rhythmically, from both sides. The floor beneath them shook and the carriage seemed to be leaning over further and further to one side. Harry reached out for the handrail in the last compartment and pulled himself up. There were handrails on either side of the doors, and using them as a ladder he climbed up to his friends, holding on for dear life every time the carriage rocked. On the other side of the corridor, Malfoy was doing the same.  
  
The next jolt was so powerful that both of them lost their grip. Harry threw out his arms and felt someone grab his right hand. Luna had caught hold of him just in time, but Malfoy tumbled down the corridor and hit the bottom wall. The carriage rocked on its springs with a squeal of metal. The harpies shrieked and renewed their attacked.  
  
Harry caught hold of the post, and Luna stretched out her hand to Hermione, who had reached the door to next carriage. Ginny was standing behind her and Ron was pulling himself up by the door of the next compartment.  
  
Another jolt. With a crack, the wall broke open and sharp rock pierced through the metal. The carriage was now almost vertical. As it swayed backwards they could see a precipice opening up below them.  
  
"Get out, get out, get out!" shouted Ron, grasping the connecting door.  
  
"What about Malfoy?" Harry looked down at the Slytherin, who was desperately trying to climb up the handrails. The angry screams of the harpies surged through the cracked walls, and dark wings hovered overhead. Then, suddenly, a sharp beak pierced its way into the corridor. It snapped at Malfoy, catching his cloak. Greedily the harpy began to tear.  
  
"Hold on to me!" Harry cried, letting go of the pole. Ron stared at him open mouthed.  
  
"I'm supposed to risk my life to save Malfoy? Are you crazy?!" He looked at Luna, who had crawled past him without a word and taken Harry's hand. Hermione also pushed her way past him and took the Ravenclaw's hand. "Shut up and do it, Ron!" she commanded.  
  
Dumbfounded, Ron climbed down to his friends and took Hermione's hand. "You're mad, all three of you. Completely mad. nuts! You're out of your minds! Any minute now the carriage will."  
  
"I said, shut up!"  
  
"Be careful!" Ginny moaned from the doorway.  
  
With Ron at the top they formed a chain. Harry, holding tightly to Luna's hand, climbed cautiously down the carriage to Malfoy, who was trying desperately to find a handhold. His cloak tore, and the head of the harpy shot backwards. Harry seized the opportunity.  
  
"Give me your hand, quick!" he yelled.  
  
Malfoy reacted mechanically and Harry grasped his fingers, damp and cold with fear. Just one second later the head of the harpy burst through the gaping hole in the back wall.  
  
"Pull, Ron!" Hermione shouted, grasping the door and bracing herself ready to pull up Luna, who in her turn pulled up Harry, with Malfoy clinging to his arm. The sharp beak of the harpy snapped shut with a loud crack - the demon had bitten into thin air. Screaming with rage it tried to squeeze further through the hole into the corridor.  
  
"Hurry up!" Ron moaned, staring in panic at the thrashing black body of the harpy.  
  
Harry tried to pull Malfoy up to him, but this time the demon was quicker and caught hold of Malfoy's right leg. It tugged him back down and his hand slipped through Harry's fingers. Behind him, Hermione screamed with horror.  
  
The eyes of the harpy glittered with triumph. Malfoy was paralysed with horror as it pulled him back down the carriage. Harry fumbled around in his pocket for his wand, until he finally caught hold of it, pulled it out and pointed it at the monster. "Expecto patronum!" he yelled in a mixture of anger and panic. A white mist shot from the end of his wand and took the form of a gigantic, ghostly stag, which almost filled the corridor. Harry's Patronus lunged at the harpy with its antlers, making it let go of Malfoy in surprise. Harry grasped his wand between his teeth and caught hold of Draco with his free hand. While the white stag charged again at the black monster, keeping it away from the students, Harry, Luna, Hermione and Ron pulled Malfoy up the carriage.  
  
"I take it back," said Ron. "You're not just mad - you're completely cracked! Do you think Malfoy would have rescued you?"  
  
Draco simply stared at him in fury. His cloak was hanging in sheds and the right leg of his trousers was almost completely torn away. The sharp beak of the harpy had cut deep into the flesh above his knee.  
  
"Just be glad that you were in the last carriage," he growled. "Otherwise they'd have pulled apart the whole train! - Quick, let's get out of here!" He pushed Harry towards the connecting door. "Let's get the hell out of here before the stag disappears and that beast comes back!"  
  
One after the other they crawled through the connecting door into the neighbouring carriage, which was still standing on solid ground. Two train guards had just hurried up.  
  
"Is there anyone still in there?" the first shouted across to them.  
  
Hermione shook her head. "Half a harpy, but no one else."  
  
"The half was enough!" Ron snorted.  
  
"Then hurry up and get into the next carriage and we'll uncouple this one here." The guard hurried the students through the corridor. "Just be glad you escaped - you're lucky to be alive!"  
  
Ron snorted again, but Harry pulled him further before he had time to start ranting. Together they squeezed through the next connecting door. Here the lights were still working. Luna pointed out of the window and in astonishment they stared at the deep precipice behind them, and at the last carriage which was dangling over it. The bridge that had once crossed the gorge had broken in the middle. - Or rather, broken was the wrong word. The metal looked more like it had been melted together at a million degrees. The black cloud of harpies had disappeared. A white stag was thundering behind them, chasing them through the air.  
  
Hermione gasped. "That's just."  
  
"That could just as easily have been the train instead of the bridge," Malfoy hissed.  
  
"You could just as easily have been harpy food," Ron snarled. "You can bet you're life that I would never have climbed down there just to pull you out of that monster's beak!"  
  
"No, you wouldn't," Malfoy snapped back. He snorted with disgust and limped past them. "It seems that Potter has a bit more decency and guts in him. And even a nutty little brat and a Mudblood. Then he turned his back on all of them.  
  
Ron was almost boiling over with rage. "Quick, let's throw him back into the other carriage!"  
  
"Too late," said Ginny, pointing out of the window at the last carriage of the Hogwarts Express, which was disappearing into the precipice in a ball of flame.  
  
***  
  
By the time the train continued its journey they had found another compartment. Numbed, they sat in the midst of their scattered luggage, trying to bring it into some kind of order. A rather grumpy Crookshnks was lying across the seat, and Hedwig sat silently above him on the luggage rack. Neville came in with Pig in his hand. He had found him in the buffet car.  
  
"What on earth happened here?" he asked, gazing around him at the chaos. "Crabbe and Goyle were white as sheets. They ran through the train shouting that a monster was trying to kill tem."  
  
"We should be so lucky," Ron growled.  
  
Neville joined them in the compartment and listened to their version of the events that had taken place in the last carriage. "I was sitting near the front," he said. "But I saw the harpies too. My gran often told me about them." He shivered. "They're a bad omen. Lord. You Know Who, liked to use them now and then. It wasn't just wizards who followed him. there were some magical creatures too."  
  
"Followers made up of every imaginable kind of scum," Ron grumbled.  
  
Hermione, however, looked worried. "The harpies were harbingers of destruction. They were shadows that came ahead of him to announce his presence."  
  
"So where's he going?" Neville asked. And after a moment of silence he said softly: "to Hogwarts.?" 


	5. Leroux and Sesachar

5. Leroux and Sesachar  
  
Fortunately, when they got out of the train at Hogsmeade they didn't see anything to justify their anxiety. Everything was as it should be. It was raining hard, and a storm was brewing, but they could see Hagrid among the crowds of students, gathering up the first-years to take them across the lake in boats in accordance with the age-old Hogwarts tradition. The half- giant waved cheerfully to his friends and they waved back. At the gates the carriages were waiting, drawn by thestrals - black, bony horses with reptile-like skin and demons' wings. Their pupilless white eyes seemed to be staring at everything or nothing. Walking past, Harry patted the neck of the animal pulling their coach. Few other students could see the ghostly horses which pulled the carriages to the castle. They were only visible to people who had seen death. And, besides Harry, Neville and Luna were the only ones to greet the thestral. Although on the outside the animal looked frightening and downright ugly, the friends had a great respect for the winged horses.  
  
They climbed into their coach and it set of immediately with the others. Harry stared out of the window, looking closely at the gigantic castle, but he saw nothing to arouse suspicion. It really did seem that everything was as normal. Even the rain and the storm were nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
They entered Hogwarts through the enormous gateway and followed the crowds of students on their way to the Great Hall. They took their places at the Gryffindor table, and Luna went over to join the Ravenclaws. There was a general murmuring and whispering, mixed with happy chatter as friends met up for the first time since the holidays. Harry glanced over at the fifth large table - that of the teachers. Dolores Umbridge's chair was empty - the teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts changed with alarming frequency every year. And, just as always, the new teacher for this subject was nowhere to be seen.  
  
However, Harry noticed another new face among the members of staff. He didn't seem to be occupying the place of another teacher, and Harry wondered what subject the stranger would teach. He was a tall, thin man with mid-length brown hair and prominent features. He was wearing a long robe, various shades of green, and a matching hat. His nose was a little too large for his face, and his appearance rather gawky.  
  
"Who's that?" Harry asked Hermione, who was sitting next to him. She followed his gaze.  
  
"That's Professor Pithormin Sesachar. But he must be here to teach a different subject - not one we've studied before. No one knows what it is. They seem to be making quite a secret of it."  
  
"And who's going to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Ginny asked.  
  
But before Hermione could answer there was an angry shout from outside, and the murmuring voices in the hall stopped abruptly. All eyes turned towards the entrance hall at the far end of the room, where the great double doors had been thrown open. The storm had sent a gust of wind and rain into the castle. The students could literally hear the raindrops hitting the newly polished marble. Filch the caretaker stood in the midst of the squall, tearing his hair out and turning red in the face as he stared with a mixture of boundless fury and blank horror at the culprit who had just walked in.  
  
Everyone present watched with interest as a hooded figure in a dark cloak stepped past the seething caretaker into the Great Hall. There was now complete silence. Everyone watched the figure of the stranger until it reached the raised staff table and pulled off its hood, revealing long, aubergine hair which hung in a plait over the its shoulder.  
  
"Ah, Professor Leroux!" Albus Dumbledore jumped up from his chair and cheerfully clapped his hands. "I was afraid you'd be late. But you've arrived just in time - please, take a seat."  
  
Professor Leroux nodded to the headmaster and stepped up to the only free chair, pulling off her cloak. She was a woman - a remarkably beautiful woman, thought Harry, who was looking at her curiously. She was nothing like any of the other teachers they had had for Defence Against the Dark Arts, who had all been.eccentric in their own way. Quirrel with his gigantic turban and his stammer, Lockhart with his glamour and self- satisfaction, Lupin with his dilapidated appearance, Mad Eye Moody (admittedly the impostor) with his frankly repugnant appearance and finally Professor Umbridge, the most ghastly teacher Harry could remember, who happened to look like the human version of an exceptionally ugly toad.  
  
Professor Leroux was really beautiful. Her long, full hair played about her soft features and her blue eyes were receptive and warm. She had taken off her dirty cloak to reveal a royal blue suit. Gracefully she took her place next to Professor Snape. The last person to appear was Hagrid. He had given the first-years their traditional welcome and brought them across the lake, which meant that now they were waiting nervously behind the door, ready to enter into the unknown. And then they came, marching two by two between the students' tables, pale and scared. Professor McGonagall walked ahead of them with the Sorting Hat in her hand, which she then laid on a stool. Every eye was fixed on the ugly lump of felt, patched up in numerous places, until a crease in the hat opened into a mouth, and it began to sing.  
  
An age ago they built this school Within these walls so strong. They thought that it would never fall Throughout the ages long. The Dark Ages, they called those years - They could not have foretold The pain, the sorrow and the fears That our future will hold. Take heed, for never is the night Far from the light of morrow. And every age will bring delight But also pain and sorrow. Now friendship counts, as you must know, In every time of strife. Saves you from greed and hatred, so By this means, saves your life. It seems you are divided yet Into your houses four. But at the time of reck'ning, let Divisions be no more. If you to Slytherin I send Ambitious, cunning soul Your blood is' pure', but in the end You're but part of a whole. In Ravenclaw a brilliant mind, Hard work might be your creed, But yet through teamwork you should find Your path in times of need. In Hufflepuff you try your best You'll always help a friend. And persevere; put to the test You're faithful to the end. And while in Gryffindor you're known For courage, it would seem Another virtue you have shown: Your loyalty to the team. In short, your way ahead is clear. With rivalry be done. For in this team I mention here Four houses work as one. Beware: dark times are on their way So take heed of my song. Now put me on, and I will say In which house you belong.  
  
"Another warning," Hermione murmured, and Ginny nodded. Harry looked silently at the hat, which had now stopped speaking. Yet again it had urged them to unite at the start of a school year, and to look beyond the boundaries of their houses. In the past year they had taken the first step with the formation of Dumbledore's Army, as this was a community consisting of students from three houses. And he was surer now than ever that Hermione was right when she said they should finally start making contact with the Slytherins.  
  
Minerva McGonagall had stepped forward with a scroll of parchment in her hands and started to read out the names of the first-years. "Ashley, Desma."  
  
A dark-skinned girl stepped hesitantly out of the group and sat down equally hesitantly on the chair. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head, and within a few moments it had sorted her into Hufflepuff. Applause rang out at the Hufflepuff table. "Boran, Selman." Slytherin. "Bugalski, Priska." Ravenclaw. "Button, Myriam." Hufflepuff. "Calvente, Sonya." Gryffindor. And so it continued, until the last student - Ronny Zorn, Slytherin - had been sorted.  
  
Then, once all the first-years had joined the tables of their new houses, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet and cleared his throat. Immediately there was complete silence in the Great Hall. Smiling, the headmaster looked down across the rows of pupils.  
  
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before the banquet starts, I'd like to say a few words. I'd like to remind the first-years - as I do every year - that anyone who enters the Forbidden Forest will be severely punished, and probably not only by us. So keep as far away from it a possible. I would also like to introduce two new members of staff." With his right hand he gestured towards Professor Leroux at the edge of the table. She didn't seem to be listening - in fact her whole attention was focussed on. Harry raised his eyebrows in astonishment. Professor Snape. He, however, seemed completely unaware of the fact that the new teacher was practically devouring him with her eyes, and was staring in front of him, lost in thought.  
  
"Firstly I'd like to welcome Professor Améthyste Leroux into our midst. This year she will be your teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts."  
  
At the mention of her name, Professor Leroux woke up from her apparent daydream, and conscientiously raised her head to give the pupils a friendly nod.  
  
"And secondly," this time Dumbledore pointed to his left, "I would like to introduce Professor Pithormin Sesachar. However, only the older students will have the pleasure of attending his classes. His subject Certamensis will only be taught to the fifth-year and above." A murmur went through the room. "But that's enough talking. Thank you for your attention."  
  
Dumbledore clapped his hands and instantly the tables were sagging under the weight of mountains of delicacies, which the students tucked into ravenously.  
  
Harry took a helping of potatoes. "What's Certamensis?" he asked. To his surprise it was not Hermione but Ginny who answered.  
  
"It's a more advanced form of duelling," she explained. "As far as I know, the subject hasn't been taught at Hogwarts for over three hundred years."  
  
"And why not?" asked Dean Thomas, who was sitting next to her and eagerly heaping meatballs onto his plate.  
  
"Because it's too dangerous."  
  
All the students within earshot of Ginny immediately fixed their eyes on her, and she shifted nervously on the bench. "Well, I've heard that there were a lot of injuries. and not only that."  
  
"Buh ififo dangeruf, whyur they gonna teash it 'gain?" mumbled Ron with his mouth full.  
  
They exchanged glances. Everyone knew the answer without speaking it. But finally Hermione voiced their thoughts, although she spoke only in a whisper. "Voldemort." A few students jumped at the sound of his name, a few moaned with horror, but many nodded in solemn agreement.  
  
"Dumbledore must have his reasons for bringing back this subject after so many years," Ginny murmured.  
  
Harry pushed away his half-eaten plate of food. Somehow he had lost his appetite. "That means he fears the worst, and that Hogwarts isn't as safe as it was before." He couldn't help remembering the incident with the harpies.  
  
Hermione nodded. "That's what it looks like. At least, he seems to want to prepare us. as far as that's possible."  
  
***  
  
After the meal, Hermione and Ron showed the first-years into the common room. The rest of the Gryffindors followed some time later and made their way to their dormitories, where their luggage had been arranged for them. Harry slung his cloak onto his bed and went back out for a moment to see if Hermione was still awake. She had just showed the new girls to their dormitory and was on her way to her own. When she saw Harry she turned around and came back down the steps towards him.  
  
He grinned at her. "I just wanted to say good night."  
  
"Then do," she smiled, ignoring the giggling first-years, who were standing in the gallery, too excited to sleep, and watching the two of them. Their giggling grew louder when Harry pulled Hermione to him and kissed her. Ginny, who was just coming into the common room with Dean through the hole in the portrait, grinned broadly and waved at the younger girls. "Just you wait - in a few year's time other people will be giggling when they see you with a boy."  
  
"Never!" protested one of the girls, Sonya Calvante, who had been the first in that year group to be sorted into Gryffindor. "I'll never have anything to do with boys. They're all stupid."  
  
The four older students exchanged amused glances. "We'll see what you say in four year's time," said Hermione, pulling away from Harry. "Good night."  
  
"Good night," he smiled, watching the girls disappear into their dormitory. Next to him, Dean grinned mischievously and dug him in the ribs. "Thanks, mate. I've just won my bet with Barny and Theodore."  
  
Harry looked at him, puzzled. "What bet?"  
  
"Barny said Hermione would choose Krum. I didn't agree and I betted on you. And Theodore."  
  
"You make bets about stuff like that?" Harry exclaimed aghast. "Are you mad?"  
  
Dean burst out laughing. "Well. don't you?"  
  
Harry looked at him as if his classmate had just turned into a ghost. "No. Whatever gave you that idea?" He shook his head. "I'm going to bed." Dean could hardly suppress a laugh as he watched him go. 


	6. Certamensis

6. Certamensis  
  
The next morning, Harry arrived at breakfast a little later than his classmates. "Where have you been?" Hermione asked, sliding along the bench to make room for him.  
  
Harry reached for the bread and jam. "Professor McGonagall wanted to speak to me."  
  
"Less than twenty-four hours here and you've already got yourself into trouble?" joked Ron, who was sitting opposite him and gulping down large helpings of porridge.  
  
"It had to do with the Quidditch team," Harry grinned.  
  
Ron stared at him, hastily swallowed another spoonful of porridge and then leant forward. "Don't tell me you're.?"  
  
"The new team captain?" Ginny guessed, grinning as broadly as Harry, who nodded.  
  
"Man, that's the limit!" Ron almost swept his plate from the table as he gave his friend a pat on the back. "Although.I wouldn't have said no either." He winked.  
  
"You're already a prefect," teased Neville. "Isn't that enough to be getting on with?"  
  
"It was obvious that Harry would be the new team captain," said Ginny. "He's the oldest." Ron coughed and she corrected herself, "I mean, he's been in the team for longest. He has the most experience."  
  
"Yep, that's right," said Dean, leaning towards them. "The Slytherins weren't thinking about that, though, judging by the person they chose."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please don't say that it's."  
  
"'Fraid so," Dean nodded. "Of all people."  
  
"Malfoy?" Harry sighed. "Wow. That'll be fun."  
  
"Fun?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "You mean when you knock him off his broomstick mid-flight?"  
  
Harry coughed. "If anyone's going to foul it certainly won't be me."  
  
"If you break the bones in his hand before the game starts, that's not a foul but it's effective," Ginny grinned.  
  
Hermione shook her head reproachfully. "I didn't hear that."  
  
"Just as well," Ron grinned. "That way you won't be able to talk Harry out of it."  
  
"I'm not planning to," she answered brusquely, pulling out her timetable. "Have you looked at the lessons scheduled for this year?"  
  
Harry shook his head and looked at her timetable. What he saw made his jaw drop. "Four hours of Certamentis?"  
  
"As a year-group," nodded Hermione. "And then a double period on Tuesday and a single on Friday in house groups."  
  
"That's a hell of a lot," said Ron. "Dumbledore must think we really need this stuff. Seven hours a week. That's pretty good going."  
  
"I'm curious to see what it'll be like," Dean murmured. "Very curious."  
  
***  
  
But their first lesson was Potions with Snape. The Head of Slytherin was in a worse mood than ever. As he read out the names of the students in his NEWT class, he was literally grinding his teeth. When he reached Harry, he glanced up from the register, his dark eyes glinting. His acid tone of voice did not promise well. "You might have astonished me, and everyone else, with your OWL results, Potter, but I'm warning you: the moment I consider your performance to be unsatisfactory, I will have you removed from this course."  
  
Harry gulped and tried to ignore Malfoy, who was sitting behind him, smirking maliciously and cracking his knuckles. The best thing would be to ignore Snape's hostility as well, so that he could concentrate on mastering Potions - something he would have to do if he wanted to follow his chosen career as an Auror.  
  
Instructions for a potion for eye complaints appeared on the board. Snape ordered his students to pay close attention to every instruction and then sat down at his desk. With a sigh, Harry started cutting up the specified number of white lily petals. It sometimes seemed as if Snape were the only thing in the school that didn't change. Every pupil could firmly rely on his bad temper. It seemed that the teacher was unable to act in any other way. Harry remembered that Professor Améthyste Leroux had been staring at him at the banquet as dreamily as a teenager stares at her pop idol, and felt increasingly astonished. She couldn't know what a dark and aloof personality was hidden behind Snape's neutral expression. Harry felt sure that her interest in the Potions teacher would soon disappear. A beautiful woman like her could have much better men than Severus Snape.  
  
After History of Magic they had their first lesson with Professor Leroux. However, on arriving at class they found the door locked. As there was no sign of their teacher, they waited in the corridor. After about five minutes, when all the other students were already in their classes, two figures appeared around a bend in the corridor. Hermione saw them over Harry's shoulder. "There she is," she said, and Harry and Ron turned around. She was right - one of the figures was Professor Leroux. accompanied by Snape. Or rather it seemed that the Head of Slytherin was trying to get rid of his colleague, but she seemed anxious to carry on her conversation with him.  
  
"Flipping heck," Ron murmured, bewildered. "She's following him like a little dog."  
  
Now the students could hear snatches of their conversation. Some of them pricked up their ears and listened with interest.  
  
"Maybe you'll have time one afternoon, Professor Snape?" fluted Professor Leroux. "Then we could have a talk about that hobby we share."  
  
Harry's jaw dropped. It had never even occurred to him that Snape might have a hobby.  
  
"A hobby?" Ron gasped. "What hobby? Taking points of Gryffindor? Bullying students? Winning the world championship in 'being insufferable'? But those could never be her hobbies."  
  
"Wait," murmured Dean.  
  
Snape's reaction to Professor Leroux' proposition was very like Ron's. He looked at her acidly.  
  
"Hobby?" he drawled.  
  
"Of course." His colleague beamed at him. "Defence against the Dark Arts. I know how highly you value the subject."  
  
Snape's expression didn't change as he pointed towards the locked classroom door. "I think your class is waiting for you, Professor Leroux."  
  
"Ah yes, of course." She began to rummage around in her robes for the keys. Snape took advantage of this distraction to stride quickly away down the corridor. By the time Leroux had looked up to address a few more words to him, he was already disappearing around the corner, his cloak billowing out behind him. She shrugged her shoulders. "A man like him must have many demands on his time," she said, opening the door. The students flooded into the classroom. Ron, Harry and Hermione looked at each other in confusion. Professor Leroux walked up to the desk, humming quietly and waiting for the students to sit down. Soon, however, Harry began to wonder if she was really waiting for them at all - her entire attention seemed to be focussed on the papers she was reading. She seemed completely unaware of the quiet murmur of the class.  
  
She was only brought back to reality by Lavender, who cleared her throat. "Uh, Professor? Could I go back to the common room for a moment - I've forgotten my book." Améthyste Leroux shook her head. "No, stay where you are. You won't be needing the book today." She straightened the papers, put them to one side and pulled out the class register. She read out the names and seemed to be trying to learn them as quickly and as well as possible. When she had finished with the register she looked around the class. Ron was doodling on a piece of parchment.  
  
"Mr. Weasley, could you give me a short summary of the teaching you received last year? I'd like to find out how much you all know."  
  
Ron looked up with a start, and blushed. "Uh. last year, Professor?" Leroux nodded. "Well, we didn't learn much useful stuff last year." He hesitated and looked to Hermione for help. She spoke up immediately.  
  
"The syllabus only covered the Ministry of Magic's laws regarding magical defence," she explained.  
  
Leroux frowned. "Who was teaching you?"  
  
Ron snorted. "That old hag."  
  
Harry gave him a rough dig in the ribs. "Professor Dolores Umbridge, miss," he added, just in time.  
  
Améthyste Leroux pursed her lips contemptuously. "Well then, that explains this. threadbare syllabus for a fifth-year class. Most regrettable. This means that we will have to work very quickly in the next few months to catch up with everything you should have learnt last year. You will have to make an effort, please, to follow in class. Professor Dumbledore has told me that there are some very good students in this class. Perhaps you will be able to help each other. At any rate I will do my best to ensure that we completely cover the material recommended for the sixth year."  
  
She looked up in surprise as the bell rang. "Good heavens, how time flies! Tomorrow could you all please bring your books with you. Last year's book as well as this year's. We'll work on them both at once." She began to gather her things together, and the students did the same. As they left, Harry stole a glance at the pile of papers that Professor Leroux had under her arm: "Rare Poisons and their Effects'. It was a research paper by Severus Snape.  
  
"I think I'm going crazy," he murmured, pointing at the title. Ron and Hermione followed his gaze and then exchanged astonished glances.  
  
"This Leroux is weird," Ron announced. "Very, very weird, in fact. She's standing my entire philosophy on its head!"  
  
***  
  
After lunch they made their way to the classroom where Pithormin Sesachar would be teaching them their new subject. The room was on the first floor. It was the only classroom there, apart from the room for Muggle Studies, and they had never been inside. The door was half open, and they stepped nervously inside.  
  
"Flipping heck," Ron exclaimed.  
  
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Dean murmured.  
  
"Now I know why this subject was forbidden for so long," Hermione remarked rather sharply.  
  
On their right, between a narrow cupboard and blackboard which stuck out at an angle into the room was Professor Sesachar. He waved to them. "Ah, the first students. Come in and sit down."  
  
The six of them entered the gigantic room. Its vaulted ceiling was a good eight meters high. Immediately in front of them were two rows of long, narrow benches facing a raised stage, which they could remember well from the duelling club with Gilderoy Lockhart. But it was no longer gold. It was covered with a large cloth embroidered with the phases of the moon. Behind the stage was a solid stone wall, but further down the room they could see a dark and rather sinister opening. They squeezed through the gap between the cupboard and the blackboard and found themselves in front of a row of desks. Behind them were four bookshelves - a row of three and then one arranged vertically, separating the sitting area from the stage like a giant screen.  
  
In front of the desks was the teachers' platform and another small, round table, and in the far corner next to the window was another blackboard.  
  
Professor Sesachar was sitting at his desk reading the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. He looked rather scruffy in his oversized clothes. His hat kept slipping down over his forehead, and while he read he pushed it absent-mindedly back onto his head.  
  
Dean and Seamus sat down in the middle of the front row. Ron, Neville, Hermione and Harry followed them. Gradually more and more students came into the room, looked around them in amazement and then chose their seats. Luna Lovegood, Zacharias Smith, Lavender Brown, the Patil twins, Michael Corner, Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley sat in the front row, so that most of the remaining members of the DA were together. The Slytherins all sat in the back row, scaring away a couple of Hufflepuffs who had arrived late and who then hurried to the last free places in the second row.  
  
Pithormin Sesachar put aside the Daily Prophet and, as Leroux had before him, called the register. On reading out some of the names he stopped and looked up. All the pupils he was looking for were in the front row.  
  
"Now there's a colourful bunch," he grinned, putting down the parchment. "Dumbledore's Army seems to be sticking together alright." The whole class stared at him in surprise, and many in bewilderment. "Army?" asked Naomi Wolf, a Ravenclaw, puzzled.  
  
Professor Sesachar nodded. "Yep, army. A group of students from different year groups, formed last year against the school rules." He pulled out a second piece of parchment from under the register. Harry immediately recognised Hermione's handwriting. The thick lettering "Dumbledore's Army" was unmistakeable. Sesachar had obviously been given the list of members by Dumbledore. "This group was formed in rebellion against the inspector and later headmistress Professor Dolores Umbridge." He looked at the page, smiling slightly. "And it was also an excellent substitute for the poor teaching in Defence Against the Dark Arts. I'll be needing all the students on this list during the next few days. Mr Potter?"  
  
Harry jumped. "Yes, Professor?"  
  
"May I ask for your assistance for a moment?" Sesachar stood up from his desk and walked to the stage.  
  
"Uh. of course, sir," Harry stammered, getting to his feet. The rest of the class followed, and Sesachar waved them towards the benches. He climbed onto the platform and signalled to Harry to do the same.  
  
"As you will already know, Certamensis is a very controversial subject, and not altogether without risk. For this reason we chose this room because it is far enough away from the younger students. It is not unusual for students to be injured during the lessons. I will not force you to take part in every practical exercise, so if you don't feel ready for a task, don't try to perform it, just speak to me at the end of the lesson. However, you can learn a lot just by watching, and for this reason I would like to ask the more proficient students in the class for their assistance, which is why I have asked you, Mr. Potter."  
  
From the back row, Draco Malfoy gave a snort of rage.  
  
"I will teach you once a week as individual houses and once - as today - in your year group. I will teach the theory to the individual groups, and all practical work will be carried out in your joint lesson. This seemed the best way to go about things. You'll soon see why." He turned to Harry. "I assume you're familiar with the rules of duelling?"  
  
Harry nodded, and like his teacher he pulled out his wand. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Very good, very good. Certamensis goes beyond traditional duelling - there are parallels with Defence Against the Dark Arts, but it also involves precisely those. Black magic."  
  
A murmur arose from the benches. Professor Sesachar shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think you'll be surprised to learn that an enemy won't give you a fair fight if you get into a dangerous situation. Or is a nice Rictusempra or Tarantallegra all that you expect from a Death Eater? Out there, they fight with different methods. Of course a few of the ordinary curses could help, but usually that's only possible if you're aware of what your enemy could be using against you. And that won't be as clean as your schoolbook curses. Ready, Mr. Potter?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Harry and Sesachar turned towards each other, bowed and raised their wands like swords. They turned their backs on each other and walked to their positions at opposite ends of the stage - Harry on the left and Sesachar on the right. Neither of them spoke a word, and Harry wasn't expecting the professor to count to three before he spoke his first curse. This wasn't training for a fair, decent fight. The second Harry heard a change in Sesachar's footsteps, he spun around and held out his wand ready for combat.  
  
"Pedem offendere!" Sesachar yelled, and at the same moment Harry shouted "Impedimenta!"  
  
The professor's curse - a hissing, bright yellow beam - slowed down as it met Harry's counter-curse. It became so slow that Harry could judge its direction and avoid it. He stepped nonchalantly to one side, making several students laugh.  
  
"Recidito!" Sesachar barked out another curse that Harry had never heard before, and he answered it with "Locomotor mortis". Both he and Sesachar were able to dodge out of the way, and their respective curses hit the walls with a spray of sparks. Harry had thrown himself to the floor and the curse had flown over him, narrowly missing him. Now he tried to scramble to his feet. But Sesachar didn't feel the need to continue the duel standing up. Still lying on the ground he shouted "Impendito!" and this time the curse hit its target. Harry felt himself being lifted into the air, and found himself hovering five feet above the ground. He stared at Sesachar, who was holding him up with his wand, and shouted out an angry "Expelliarmus!" Even in this awkward position - it was impossible to take proper aim - he hit the professor, whose wand flew out of his hand. Harry fell back down onto the stage - painfully, but with his opponent's wand, which he had snatched out of the air, grasped tightly in his hand.  
  
Pithormin Sesachar appeared very satisfied as he got up from the floor, although he was rubbing his arm. "That's a pity. I thought I'd be able to hang you from the chandelier, Mr. Potter. You'd have a great view of the blackboard from up there." Everyone laughed. Harry grinned too as he rubbed his sore backside.  
  
"Mr. Potter has proved that you can defend yourself against curses you've never heard before, if you're fast enough. Reflexes are the most important thing in serious duelling. And that's what we're going to be training and testing, along with the new curses." Professor Sesachar pointed towards the seating area. "Back there I have a nice cupboard full of Boggarts - they don't mind being hurled against the ceiling, and in spite of everything I don't want to have to take a pupil to the hospital wing after the very first lesson. Any volunteers?" 


	7. Amber Barnacle

7. Amber Barnacle  
  
A twilit room with wooden tiles on the floor. Tiles gleaming with blood. A man in farmer's clothing, crouching over a struggling animal, staring up at him in horror. His mouth opened in a plea: "Please. please don't." But two dark figures stepped forward, blocking the farmer from view. They couldn't block out his scream.  
  
Harry sat up in bed. His breathing was shallow and his scar was burning like fire. He listened in the darkness, but his classmates seemed to be asleep. 'At least this time I didn't scream,' he thought bitterly, and pulled the blanket higher. These hideous pictures were driving him crazy. He lay in bed, his hand pressed against his throbbing scar, and stared at the ceiling above him. These visions had to stop. It had taken long enough for him to understand and accept that they weren't an advantage, that they made him vulnerable. If Voldemort succeeded in getting a hold of his mind, who knew what he would do next.  
  
'If only I'd taken those Occultation classes with Snape more seriously,' he scolded himself, grimacing as his scar gave another throb. "I know you've just killed again - now leave me in peace!" he hissed and turned over onto his stomach, his face pressed into his pillow. 'Think about something else, something nice.Or - even better- think about nothing at all.'  
  
He couldn't carry on like this. Harry sighed. But there was only one way to stop this flood of images, and he wouldn't enjoy that any more than he enjoyed his nightmares.  
  
***  
  
The next few days passed peacefully. Harry had expected to find news about Voldemort's latest murder in the Daily Prophet, but that wasn't the case. When the next week had gone by without the smallest article, Harry gave up waiting.  
  
After breakfast they made their way to the Charms classroom. They had just reached the fourth floor and were turning into the main corridor when Ron bumped hard into a girl and dropped his books. "Oh, sorry!" The girl seemed to be in a hurry, but looked apologetic. "I didn't mean for that to happen." She bent over hastily and helped Ron to collect up his books.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Ron said, straightening out a few pages in his copy of 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi'. The girl handed him the rest of his books and looked at him in embarrassment, brushing a strand of blond hair out of her face. Her amber-coloured eyes looked genuinely apologetic. "I. I have to go," she murmured, and hurried past them towards the stairs.  
  
Ron stared after her in surprise. "Who was that?"  
  
Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, and Harry gave his friend a crooked grin. "Unless I've suddenly become colour-blind. a Slytherin?"  
  
***  
  
Luna barely looked up from her magazine.  
  
"Yes, that's Amber Barnacle," she told the trio, turning the page. "She's in the fourth year."  
  
Harry was pleased. It had been a good idea to ask Luna about the girl - no one else knew as many Hogwarts students as she did. "She sat next to me on her first journey in the Hogwarts Express," Luna continued. "There was no room for her in her cousin's compartment."  
  
Hermione frowned. "She has a cousin here? Who's that?"  
  
"Draco Malfoy," Luna answered, starting the crossword puzzle.  
  
***  
  
"Are you mad?" Ron stared at Harry in bewilderment. "You want me to talk to that.. that. to Malfoy's cousin?"  
  
"You've managed it once already," Harry grinned, helping himself to the roast potatoes.  
  
Ron looked anything but enthusiastic. "Why don't you do it yourself?"  
  
"She didn't bump into me." Harry tucked into his meal. "And anyway, it was you she was looking at the whole time."  
  
His friend almost spat out his meatballs in horror. "She was what? You're seeing things! She's a Slytherin, for God's sake!"  
  
"So?" Hermione interrupted him sternly. "She apologised to you, instead of rushing past. She helped you pick up your books even though she was in a hurry. She wasn't the least bit hostile."  
  
"Maybe she didn't see the colour of our ties," Ron grumbled. "She can't be a nice person."  
  
"Because she's a Slytherin?" Ginny sighed.  
  
"And Malfoy's bloody cousin!" Ron slammed his fist down on the table. "We can't just invite her along to our meetings!"  
  
Neville looked at him timidly. "But we agreed to find a few approachable Slytherins, so that we'd have someone from every house in the group."  
  
"To make friends," nodded Hermione. "Ron, it's so important!"  
  
"Then you talk to her," he said stubbornly.  
  
Hermione folded her serviette and put it to one side. "Alright then, I will, since you're too pig-headed."  
  
***  
  
They had started to arrange the first meeting of term for the remaining members of the DA. As clubs were no longer forbidden, as they had been under Umbridge's brief rule, they no longer had to act in secret, and could talk about it openly with their classmates. Harry was sitting with Ernie, Luna and the Creevey brothers, and arranged a convenient time for them to meet before the start of Quidditch training. They were joined by Michael and Cho. Cho had obviously stopped being angry with Harry, and had stopped ignoring him. She now seemed satisfied with the way things had ended the previous year, and appeared to get on very well with Michael. She had also stopped throwing poisonous glances at Hermione whenever she was nearby.  
  
"If you're looking for your girlfriend," Michael greeted Harry, "I'd look near the lake. That girl with a mane like a lion who's talking and laughing with a Slytherin." He seemed as surprised as Ron had been at lunch.  
  
Harry scribbled down the date and time for the next meeting on a piece of parchment and handed it to Cho. "Ah, she's talking to Amber." He said it so casually that Michael looked confused. Harry sighed. "Listen, it's bad enough that most of the Slytherins have prejudices against everyone else. We shouldn't have any, if we find one or two decent Slytherins."  
  
"How do you know that Amber's a decent person?" Michael grumbled.  
  
Harry grabbed his schoolbag and stood up. "A first impression? And I think I'll go and get another one. See you in Herbology."  
  
He left the group and strolled down to the lake. It was a glorious autumn day and most of the students were spending their lunch hour out of doors. Hermione and Amber were sitting under a tree next to the lake. Harry waved to the girls and they waved back. He smiled and joined them.  
  
"Hermione's just told me about your group," said Amber, leaning against the tree trunk. "I'd like to come along, if I wouldn't be in the way. Oh." She laughed and held out her hand. "We haven't been officially introduced. I'm Amber Barnacle."  
  
"I know," grinned Harry, shaking hands with her. "I'm Harry Potter."  
  
"I know that too," she laughed.  
  
They leant over the parchment that Harry held out to them, and he told Amber the time and place of the meeting. They had arranged to meet on Wednesday evening. There was an empty room next to the Charms classroom which was big enough and which they would be allowed to use.  
  
"Can I ask you a personal question?" Harry asked after a while.  
  
Amber looked at him curiously. "What question?"  
  
"Why you're in Slytherin."  
  
She laughed and tossed back her blond hair. It was the same colour as Draco's, Harry realised. But apart from that she seemed nothing like her cousin.  
  
"For the last few centuries it's been a scandal in my family if anyone doesn't end up in Slytherin. It's tradition."  
  
"But the Sorting Hat." Harry began, but Amber interrupted him. "In its way the hat is corruptible too. It rarely happens that it sends someone from a well-known family to a completely different house from the one all their ancestors belonged to. Besides, I never objected to being in Slytherin. I wanted to be."  
  
"You wanted to be in Slytherin?" Hermione asked.  
  
Amber nodded. "Sure. My father wouldn't have been happy if I'd have ended up in Hufflepuff. That was his greatest fear. He didn't think I was selfish enough to be in Slytherin and was prepared for the worst.and I wanted to give him a nice surprise."  
  
Harry and Hermione stared at her open-mouthed, and she laughed.  
  
"And? Was he pleased?" Hermione chuckled.  
  
Amber grinned. "Pleased as punch. He fell to ground and thanked his holy demons for saving him from such ignominy." She laughed louder. A group of Hufflepuffs, who were passing by, looked at her uncertainly and sped up a little.  
  
Harry gave Amber the parchment and she promised to come to the meeting. On the way back to the classroom, Hermione gave him a friendly nudge. "What will Ron say when we tell him what nice people there are in Slytherin?"  
  
Harry smiled. "He'd rather eat a Quaffle for breakfast than believe it."  
  
***  
  
However, neither of them had the chance to speak to Ron before Potions. To start the lesson, Snape growled out a complicated recipe for the Carraig- Potion, which was used to turn objects and plants into stone. Harry almost miscounted his palusos scales as he thought about what he should say to Snape. Actually he didn't want to say anything to him. He would have preferred not to be dependent on the bad-tempered teacher. But he knew that Severus Snape could not be avoided if he wanted to get his visions under control.  
  
To his satisfaction he managed to produce a potion that was the right colour, and immediately corked a sample of it in a labelled bottle. Each student was supposed to bring a sample to Snape at the end of the lesson, so that he could test the potion's effectiveness. But before Harry could hand in his bottle, Malfoy pushed his way between Harry and the desk, a malicious smile on his face. Unseen by Snape, he knocked the bottle from Harry's hand and it smashed to pieces on the floor.  
  
"Oh, Potter, how clumsy of me," smirked Malfoy as he placed his own sample on Snape's desk. "I'm so sorry."  
  
Fuming, Harry ignored the oily smile that Snape gave when he saw that Harry had unfortunately cleaned his caldron before handing in the sample. Once again he had nothing to show for his practical work. He could already see a triumphant Snape throwing him off the course. He felt like wringing Malfoy's neck on the spot.  
  
Hermione shot him a sympathetic glance as he walked back to his place. He didn't have time to make another potion. The lesson was already over and the students were leaving the classroom.  
  
Harry slowly packed his things together and watched the others leave. When the last of them had disappeared through the doorway, he stood up too. He looked over at Professor Snape, who was brooding over a piece of parchment on his desk and didn't notice him. Either that, thought Harry, or he was simply ignoring him.  
  
He felt terribly awkward as he walked hesitantly around his desk towards Snape, who still hadn't looked up. The splinters of glass from his bottle were still lying on the floor, and Harry stepped over them with a sigh. It would be a miracle if Snape even listened to him without chasing him out of the classroom. Harry's throat was bone dry. Finally he gave a little cough.  
  
"Er. Professor.?"  
  
Snape looked up and stared at him. His piercing gaze did nothing to increase Harry's confidence. There was a moment of complete silence, and Harry took a deep breath.  
  
"I'm sorry, Potter, but there can be no excuse for the broken bottle," said Snape coolly, glancing down at Harry's Carraig-Potion which was still shining wet on the floor.  
  
"That's not what I'm here about," answered Harry. Not only would Snape refuse to give him a grade for the missing potion, he was now going to get even further into his teacher's bad books. The Potions master raised his eyebrows in a question. "I." stammered Harry, "... I wanted to ask you if you could give me Occultation lessons again. and to apologise.for." Snape's gaze was now so piercing that Harry thought his eyes would bore deep holes in his head. He forced himself to continue: ".for not taking the lessons seriously. I.I'm sorry."  
  
He had said it. Harry felt slightly sick. Now Snape would use this admission of weakness to humiliate him and send him out of the room. But the teacher was silent. He put the parchment aside and leant slowly back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
"So, you'd like Occultation lessons..." he drawled. "Why the sudden interest? Are you hoping to amuse yourself by dragging out more embarrassing memories from my past?" His voice was so cold that the dungeon seemed snug and warm in comparison.  
  
"No, sir," said Harry quietly. "And I didn't enjoy it."  
  
Again Snape's dark eyes seemed to bore into him. "So you didn't enjoy watching your heroic father tormenting your hated teacher as a schoolboy?" he asked acidly.  
  
Harry dropped his eyes. "He had no reason to do that."  
  
"Of course he had a reason!" Snape said so loudly that Harry jumped in alarm. "You've heard his reason for yourself, Potter!"  
  
Yes, he'd heard. "It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.".  
  
"No," Harry murmured, forcing himself to raise his eyes. "What I heard wasn't a reason and it wasn't an excuse. But Professor - I don't want to talk about my father. I."  
  
"Because I could end up spoiling that image you have of a perfect father and all-round nice guy?" Snape snorted, rolling up the parchment on his desk.  
  
"Up till then everyone had said nice things about him!" Harry's fear of his Potions teacher had vanished and been replaced by a rebellious defiance. "How was I supposed to know that he could be an arrogant idiot too if no one told me? Because friends never say bad things about their friends, no matter what they've done!"  
  
Snape had been about to turn away from him, but he stopped. He voice was now quieter, but still cutting. He looked searchingly at Harry, raising his eyebrows. "Potter, did you ever have the desire to own somebody? Not just the wish - the desire!"  
  
Harry looked at him in surprise at the obvious change of subject. "The desire to. what?"  
  
"Answer my question!" Snape shouted, bringing the roll of parchment down smartly on the desk so that the potion bottles clinked together. "Yes or no?".  
  
Harry had jumped back a step and was staring at his teacher in horror. "No, sir," he answered in a small voice.  
  
Snape rested both hands on his desk and leant forward. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Harry. "Your father did. He wanted to own Lily. Not to win her in a fair fight, no, he wanted to own her, whatever the cost! And he was so, so sure that he would get her!"  
  
For a moment Harry stood as if rooted to the spot, and then, quite suddenly, he understood. Yes, now he understood everything.  
  
"You loved her," he blurted out in surprise, and couldn't help but stare at Snape in bewilderment. Instead of losing his temper again, Snape remained silent and pressed his lips together. But even without an answer, Harry knew that he was right. Back then, his father had been trying to impress Lily, so that she would go out with him. And Snape must have had an eye on her too. That would explain the rivalry between the two young men that had escalated into hatred. But.  
  
"You called her a Mudblood," said Harry, and now it was his turn to speak coldly.  
  
Snape raised his eyes and nodded. He answered so calmly and seriously that his words seemed to resonate in Harry's ears. "Yes, I did. When you're humiliated to that point you say the wrong things out of sheer desperation, just to preserve a scrap of pride. Even the pride that prevents you from accepting someone's help."  
  
Harry didn't answer, but he understood. He himself was often too proud to ask for help, even when it was the right thing to do. False pride - as he had painfully come to realise. And in disbelief he found that for the first time ever while in Snape's presence he actually felt sympathy for this man he had always hated so much.  
  
"In the following generation the roles seem to have been reversed," Snape remarked, packing away the roll of parchment and the bottles of Carraig- Potion. "Thursday at six-thirty," he added shortly. Harry looked at him in astonishment. "Occultation lesson in my office," Snape growled. "And I would advise you to be punctual!"  
  
It took a moment for Harry to process the fact that Snape had actually agreed to teach him. Still surprised, he stammered out a "thank you, sir", grabbed his schoolbag and threw it over his shoulder. He hurried to the door, worried that he'd misheard and that Snape was about to send him to the devil. He wound his way through the rows of tables and had just reached the door when he heard a soft "Reparo!" from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Snape pick his now repaired bottle of Carraig-Potion from the floor. Some drops of the potion had remained on the glass and were now inside the bottle. Snape turned over the bottle in his hands, examining its contents. "Not much left, and it's rather dirty. but as a sample it will do." He looked up. "Shouldn't you be in the Great Hall by now, Potter?" he snapped.  
  
A smile stole across Harry's face when he saw Snape put his sample with the others as he left the dungeon.  
  
***  
  
"I'm proud of you," beamed Hermione when he told her and Ron about his conversation with Snape. "It's so important for you to carry on with Occultation lessons."  
  
Ron pulled a face. "In his shoes I'd rather give it a miss, knowing Snape."  
  
"Well fortunately you're not in his shoes," Hermione snapped, and Ron pulled his chair a little further away from her.  
  
"Alright, alright," he reassured her. "I was only joking. But I look forward to seeing Malfoy's face when Snape reads out the marks and he hears to his surprise that Harry's didn't fail!" 


End file.
